


Fates Traced in Blood

by midnightisolde



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game), World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: AU, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dracula Influence/References, F/M, Ghouls, Gothic, Lore friendly, Mystery, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Omniscient, Personal Horror, Possible Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Bloodlines, Romance, Slow Burn, Suspense, Vampire and Ghoul Interactions, Vampire and Human Interactions, Vampire/Human, Vampires, Ventrue, gothic horror, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 01:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17571479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightisolde/pseuds/midnightisolde
Summary: A pre-Bloodlines story about Sebastian LaCroix.Amelia Siddall has a disturbing experience while at an event and meets an enigmatic figure, both of which haunt her dreams for the following weeks. A new graduate in archives and information management, she secures a new assignment for a private client in New York, Sebastian LaCroix, who will soon be relocating to Los Angeles. Strange things and discoveries occur while working for him. Will she discover the truth of his vampiric nature? And what will the consequences be?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fan fiction is meant to be as close to the Vampire the Masquerade source material as possible. Likewise, the video game. However, there may be some AU elements and flexibility. It is set somewhere between 1998-2004, prior to the events of Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines.
> 
> Main sourcebooks used:  
> \- Vampire the Masquerade: Revised (1998)  
> \- Vampire the Masquerade 20th Anniversary (2011)  
> \- Clanbook: Ventrue Revised (2000)  
> \- Ghouls: Fatal Addiction (1997)  
> \- Liber des Goules: The Book of Ghouls (1997)  
> \- Hunter: The Reckoning (1999)  
> \- The Hunters Hunted (1992)  
> \- The Hunters Hunted II (2013)  
> 

Through the windows of his penthouse office, Sebastian LaCroix looked on this late evening. Black skies; obscured by wisps of grey cloud, sailing before the stars and a bright moon. Sentinel skyscrapers, with the blood-orange glow of windows dotted upon their dark edifice. Below, perhaps the figures of people - insignificant. How small they seemed from here.

There was always life in a city. And always some tragedy, and a need for order to be maintained.

He liked to be alone with his thoughts. And now, there was much to think about. The stillness of the night, and the sense of remove from life it gave, was always an ideal setting for thinking. And it was becoming a habit of his. A familiar sight at his penthouse in the highest tower of Los Angeles. But this was not there.

New York, like most cities of the New World, had always been volatile, despite Camarilla and Ventrue presence in the most prominent areas. But the Sabbat were subdued for now, and Camarilla power reinstated. LaCroix played an important role - always the overachiever. And yes, he had achieved much over his long life, and he was not shy in letting those that met him know, out of his pride, ambition and a sense of superiority. But there was a need to prove something. He had a fear of failure. Here this fragile balance was not without dramatic turbulence and losses. Diplomatic misjudgment destroyed the Prince of New York, Michaela. Power was always uncertain, no matter how assured it seemed.

And so, he had reason to contemplate power now. It was always a Ventrue concern. It was part of their education, and their disposition leaned towards it, with many long lecturing discussions of the topic. So, there was nothing unusual in the philosophy of these contemplations. And he was not unpracticed in the wielding of power. Having had positions of leadership whilst a soldier; in his business ventures, and over time in Kindred concerns since his Embrace. The culmination of this? He would be the Prince of Los Angeles.

He had developed a presence in LA over the years for business, since he was the CEO of a large organisation. But, it was a recent development to think of being there in person, as it was a hostile territory. And he had been in New York a long time. Though he was used to it, and would in certain respects prefer to remain here, rather than go to Los Angeles with its arid heat, synthetic allure; powder-keg atmosphere and a patchwork of factions, so it was to be. He might look forward to the adventure and challenge. He had always done what was necessary to fulfil his desires and ambitions. And accustomed to moving, whether to learn from Kindred mentors, or to carve out new frontiers of influence and wealth. But he had his doubts about whether this was a prize, or a sentence.

It would never be a simple rule. There were more prestigious and older Princedoms. Los Angeles was not one. Wild and temperamental. An Anarch haven; lawless and reckless. A drought of leadership. LaCroix was determined to do an admirable job there. It would be a boon to him and would, so it seemed, secure his favour when he brought it to heel for the Camarilla. But it would not be easy. He knew that authority never came without the burden of responsibility and hardship, however unappreciated it went. He had been there, and he knew the types he would encounter. It was doubtful that he would have the respect of those obstinate persons. But a worthless thing; it mattered little to him. Such an admirable feat for him to bring that city under control. Who could not praise him then? He did not doubt his own abilities. But doubted the trustworthiness of those that backed him. With enough experience and a taste of proximity to Camarilla power, he had few illusions remaining about it. There was little real regard for him, it just what he could do for them. It mattered little if he survived this, just so long as he paved the way for their purposes. Few could ever be trusted.

But Sebastian LaCroix, for all his faults, was not one to shrink from what seemed insurmountable. He was admirable in that way. Even reckless and crazy in his daring, though on the surface he might have seemed austere. He loved a challenge. And he embraced the challenge of change and difficult odds. He'd been born to a time of great change, before his Embrace.

The Embrace and first taste of undeath were never pleasant. It had shocked him then.

He looked at the dark night now; his reflection just visible upon the window glass. He could rationalise those feelings of distress now. Look upon it with the clinical remove of time.  Still thinking as a human then, it horrified him to realise what he had become. But, in living this way, he had come to a relative equilibrium. Kindred immortality offered great possibilities for ambition, the aim he now sought. But caution. Darkness dwelt in the heart of every Kindred. 

He knew what he was. A level of detachment had grown in him after these many decades. There was only meager discomfort because the blood of humankind, to which he had once belonged, was his sustenance. But, he did not wish to be a wandering wraith of degenerated spirit, within whom only bloodlust and feral malice remained.

He might have shivered at that thought. He loathed squalor and vulgarity. Whether in the form of Anarch escapades or the disgusting excesses of the Sabbat, such was anathema to him, whatever his own indifference.  
The night seemed still with sultry darkness. And, it was not yet late. There were tasks to attend to.

Unlike others, often the old and powerful of his clan, he was not one to keep menageries of Ghouls. He was not ‘understaffed’, but preferred not to have more than necessary. And, only a handful aware of their circumstances. Others were enamoured by what he could offer. For those of mercenary feeling, he was wealthy and therefore the benefits of working for him were obvious, if impersonal. His person charmed some of a fanciful inclination, despite his flaws. All vampires could bind a mortal to their influence by their blood. The good fortune of being a Ventrue was several abilities were at hand to inspire loyalty, influence, and control. A presence that could beguile, and a hypnotic gaze that commanded and influenced the mind. And if those preternatural gifts did not do the trick? There was still the earthly benefit of wealth, connections and influence, which Ventrue often possessed.

The Sabbat presence in the city was minimised, but there remained insurrections and this victory was not without casualties. He had lost some personal staff and vessels. An inconvenience. How difficult it was to cultivate and maintain these retainers. It was hard to get the staff these days.

And so, this was the aim of tonight, rather than introspection on the state and nature of things. Reports lay on his desk. This was neither unusual nor the first occasion he had perused them. He sometimes requested information regarding new hires and interns. It paid to be abreast of potential, and move before anyone else did. A new vessel of his preference. A servant. Perhaps, a Childe.

The latter wasn’t his purpose, for now. As he’d had a decline in both ghouls and vessels, he was alight to getting fresh ones to replenish his needs. There were certain tasks and projects that required help and expertise, and as there was much to do in his move to Los Angeles, he would need these resources.

He had retrieved the information for a person whom he had encountered the previous night. This one might not have been obvious at first glance. She was not unusual to other young persons who had interned here. And even in that milieu, though not unimpressive, (or else she would not have had an internship there), wasn’t the highest echelon of outstanding. But he had met this one, and that made the difference. The circumstances had been normal at first. But, certain occurrences had taken place which should not in Kine presence. There were several factors to his choice. The potential; ability and accomplishments, but without overt conspicuousness, and personal suitability for his needs… And then there was a necessity. What had she seen? He went over it in his mind.

 

* * *

 

He had been at an evening event. Sometimes, he appeared at such things, though he was more of a solitary type. But it was beneficial to the foundation, and so it was expected. And, he felt at home in the surrounding, which had a grand architecture of a classical type. The music subtle; suitable. Not too overbearing, or too much of a modern blare for his old-fashioned taste.

He was finely dressed, as usual. Dark evening suit of a luxuriant fabric and cut that spoke of quality. And LaCroix himself, aloof yet with a certain subtle magnetism in his presence. Pale complexion; a temperature above cadaverous waxen, but there was a handsomeness in the angular nobility of his countenance. He had been there for some time now, the formalities over, and could settle back into observing the scene. He was on one of the mezzanine balconies, associates too; some other Ventrue also there. His grey eyes glanced over the people with a haughty languor.

Any of interest? Did any draw his gaze more than others amongst them?

Vampires had heightened senses. Attuned to the vitality of the living. A slight movement. The soft sound of breathing. Heartbeat. The flow of the blood through the veins. The scents, each with potential. Vampires of all clans might have personal biases and appreciation of quality, but they could make do with anyone. But Ventrue tastes were particular. And he was particularly select. Most of the living bore no interest to him. His sensitivity to their blood was dull; nullified. It was only a few that piqued his interest. It was the case with him that none but the type he needed would satisfy.

He had yet to drink while at this function. Perhaps he wouldn’t at all if no one suitable crossed his path. To be a Ventrue, one had to be prepared for that. There was no aching hunger in him, save for the ebb of longing that dwelt in the depths of every Kindred heart. Never did it leave them from Embrace until Final Death. Still, it was not overwhelming for him at that moment. A quiet, white-noise background thought, which he had learned to manage.

He thought in consideration. Often, the presence of a suitable person was unmistakable. At other times, it might take longer to determine; one might need to let the senses settle. And this was one of those nights.

A pull here.

An interest there.

Question marks over some. Others eliminated. Meanwhile, the presence of some seemed to stand out.  
He had seen a young woman. Dark-haired and fair. Demure of manner. He thought she either worked there, or studied because she appeared apart from the occasion. His gaze lingered longer in scrutiny, as he did with other individuals that had piqued his attention. But he must be certain. There was the consideration by him of others. And, in no urgency, he was casual in his pursuit of a suitable prospect. Conversation sometimes. Dealing with interaction from other Kindred, some of whom he knew not to put much store in for trustworthiness. Some he could consider allies, for now.

But, it was getting late, and his itinerary might now turn towards the most basic, defining need of a vampire.

That brunette girl again.

Something of her blood. Not as an awakening certainty of restless need in him. Rather, it was the subtlety of a desire that ebbed and flowed and drew him a little more than the rest. The attraction was not the undeniable kind he knew, as it was for a Ventrue when in the presence of their type. Some identified themselves only by a slow burn of appeal. Perhaps, of a marginally different tenor to his typical quarry. A risk? Or close enough to what he needed, that the slight difference may be acceptable or even exotic.

Hardly a noticeable gesture; his grey clear eyes narrowed but betrayed little of emotion.

He scrutinised her more. What could he deduce from the exterior?

Hair of a dark brown and long. Fair skin of a warm rosy glow, that English look. Neither particularly tall nor short. She seemed shy, but a poised deportment. Pretty girl, though in striking beauty, others drew more attention. She was dressed demure and well, perhaps lacking a little polish though she had a certain poise. Perhaps, she had not the resources or the inclination to be high maintenance. This was a major city - a fashion centre. The occasion exclusive. She might have been too much a wallflower there to have been head turning. He assumed her to be in her early twenties, though the youthful vitality in her face, and unsureness of manner, might make one think younger.

What did she do?

Of her age group here, some were interns. Others, students of a variety of disciplines, or young professionals. Which might she be?  
With a casual enquiry, he had a general idea about her. She was most likely a student or intern, perhaps both, probably doing study abroad. Something about her and her blood gave him a sense she was not from here.

He did not want to let on of his interest. That could be a dangerous thing for the Ventrue, as it allowed others to speculate on their preferences in blood, or to preempt their plans. He could speak to the woman, but that might have been a waste of his time. And besides, at that point, it didn’t matter about her as a person and what was going on in her life. He was interested in her blood and whether it suited him.  
He looked back at the girl then, gazed a little longer. She also caught his eyes, though she soon broke this brief meeting; looking away shyly. And it was not too long afterwards she disappeared from the room, to another quiet area or outside on the terrace gardens, which might suit him well if he could intercept her.

He had kept a note of her from that time onwards. But he was not overbearing in pursuing her, and he would have done so slowly, until he could feed on her. And might have been all there was to it, had not something occurred to disrupt the normal proceedings of that night.

It was past midnight and there was a quiet, almost unnatural stillness, despite the dull murmur from the main room, which gave one the feeling that something was about to happen. As intelligence would reveal later, some minor Sabbat shovelheads had acted in deliberate defiance by coming into Camarilla territory, as they knew individuals of that faction would be present here. Though it was not a major attack, they had caused some outrages. Held some hostages. There were some acute injuries and one near fatality. And that had to be explained because of some media interest, which waned as attention turned to the next drama, as it always did.

How did his girl do? When he was checking the area, he could sense that same scent that had caught his attention earlier. Just a faint, but distinct, sign. He supposed he was following it, even though that wasn’t the sole object of his direction. The regular throb of a heart. But it was urgent, pounding, he recognised something near frantic and it intrigued him. And closer; stronger…

Around the corner came the girl. Her quickened but cautious pace. Head down, she almost walked into him.

Her face snapped up then, but she wanted only a brief acknowledgment, as if she would sooner continue past, than stay. On her face, drained white, a look of disturbance. By that time, he had known of the shovel-heads antics, and so he had his suspicions about her behaviour. If he was correct, there was reason to worry.

He feigned concern. Asked if she was alright. But his concern was not purely an act. He didn’t like the pernicious deeds of the Sabbat dregs, although this was not out of humanitarianism for the Kine. Was it not convenient for him she had sailed straight into his arms? Still, he wasn’t unfeeling, he just didn’t know her well enough to feel anything personal.

“No, I’m fine, it’s just -” she did not meet his gaze, this shy girl, except in brief glances at him. Something in her froze just then. She might have been enamoured with his handsome features, but he suspected that was not the reason. A slight gasp; she drew back from him. There was the hint of shock and alarm in her eyes, which she hid, but he had seen it. He believed that she had seen something of the supernatural, one that had been his purpose in investigating this area, and now intercepting her. But he glimpsed the hint of recognition her green eyes of his inhuman nature. The first was understandable - the Sabbat were not shy of showing themselves, although they were never truly reckless enough to have no Masquerade of their own. But the second - of suspicion of him - was more significant.

He presumed the reason. He encircled her arm with his hand. She seemed to fold to the reassurance, yet he could tell from her heartbeat that all was not well in her reactions towards him. Hmm, he might have to put plans of settling upon this one to feed aside for now. He could not let her leave him, until learning more about her.

The young woman had stumbled upon some scene of them feeding. But she had the sense to hide, or else she too may have become an addition to the feast. That relieved him, even if it was in a self-serving way. It would be a shame had her blood been wasted on their gluttony.

“You seem to be a little unnerved. Understandable, given the circumstances.” His voice was velveteen comfort in the gloomy area, under the dark sky and looming buildings that dominated. She looked at him, still white-terror on her face. Fine black suit and so knew that he was rich. His movement had a certain gracile sensuality, but was not subtly inhuman. Fair-haired, his eyes were grey but a striking glow in them was… different. She felt drawn to him. But a sense of unease lived in the deepest part of her, yet she could not quite place it.

“Yes. I,” she furrowed her brow, “thank you.”

His lips upturned in a smile, then he glanced away, “no trouble. It is just a courtesy.” His attention then back to her. “You were going home?”

“Yeah. I was just going to get a taxi, before this happened. That was where I was going. I should go now, anyway.” She pulled her coat around herself.

He could tell she felt uneasy, though she was trying to keep a facade of ease. He was concerned that she realised what he was and wanted to get away from him as soon as possible. Perhaps she was justified in feeling that way. Had he not been observing her; selecting her to be his prey tonight? He thought for a moment. He couldn’t let her wander awa. “No need. You can come with me.”

“It’s all right. I will be ok.”

He looked at her. “It’s not an inconvenience. Come with me,” he guided her along with him to a black limousine.

 

* * *

 

He let her settle into the surroundings, knowing she was nervous, so it was better to set her mind at ease. The leather seats were a plush luxury and comfort. She looked out of the window as the car hummed by the buildings in the night time. She seemed to feel more relaxed.

“I realise we are not acquainted with each other,” his voice cut through the quietness. “What is your name?”

“Amelia Siddall.” She was looking at him with an uncertain, but wide-eyed curiosity. He found that not an unusual reaction from people sometimes. He told her who he was, and she was even more awed by that.

“We won’t be too long I imagine,” he glanced out of the windows.

“Thanks. I think you were right. I would feel better not travelling back myself.”

“Of course,” he smiled with feigned concern. “What made you uneasy?” he asked her with casual ease.

“I-I don’t know. It was just weird. I can’t tell if it was just my imagination. He was holding her and it looked like -”

“Go on.”

She shrugged, “I don’t know. It just looked… strange.”

He sighed, hoping to get the information out of her without using disciplines. But he had to be certain, despite his belief that the girl had not seen enough understand anything. “Tell me,” he leaned closer to her, a focused look in his eyes.

“I thought it was just a… an intimate encounter I had come across. It embarrassed me,” she looked at him, the naivety and youth of the girl shown on her face and eyes that caught in the light grey of his. Still as stilled by a Basilisks glare. The irresistible need to be honest with him. She had surprising strength of resistance - her mind was strong. But not enough to resist him. “There was something-something just - just not right,” her words tumbled out as if falling into a dream; attention only for him; all else melted away like the unfocused background of a photograph.

He asked her more about it and she told him. She had seen only a little, yet enough to have made her feel uneasy. And then there was the look of recognition of his nature, as if she possessed an instinctive ability. He asked her about that too. She said that there was something about him that enthralled and chilled her blood to ice, like desire with loathing strangely mixed.

She did not name that fear and allure, by its name of ‘Vampire’. But he knew that she described it well enough. He had his suspicions of this. Though they were just as easy to deceive as to kill, some Kine were more observant than others. Some had powers of perception of strangeness and the supernatural. And those were the ones to regard with concern and, perhaps, fear. He wondered if… but he thought not. However, from experience he knew appearances could deceive, so he would not dismiss that possibility entirely. It was not out of naivety or trust that a vampire survived almost two centuries, as he had.

By virtue of his Ventrue abilities, he had teased the information out of her. It seemed she did not witness enough to have outright knowledge, and therefore it was not quite a Masquerade breach. He also could not make her confess to any concerning activities, such as belonging to a group of hunters. So she was innocent. But it was enough. If she was perceptive, it wouldn’t matter if he had made her memory hazy. She would notice something again. Or recall that night in some disjointed way, and probably already did.

He was intrigued by her, and wouldn’t easily let her go without another thought. It was a matter of fact she was useful to him, at least with her blood. Her perceptiveness to the supernatural might be a problem, hindrance or a danger later if left to her own devices. Was it not better to diffuse that, by bringing her under his control sooner, rather than later?

He glanced over the information he had on her again. How she had worked on her internship; her qualification, experiences and skills; what  could he glean of her background? 

The girl was only twenty-three, and not American but English. A graduate student. She was training in librarianship, archives and information technology, with interest in working in business organisations, but also liked antiquarian pursuits and special collections. She was in New York for a semesters’ worth of study abroad and an internship at the LaCroix Foundation. This was convenient, as he could pull up details about her. There were positive performance reviews, the only criticism being she could lack self-assurance. An average proletariat background. But, there was a clear ambition and ability. LaCroix didn’t take average interns, so she must have worked hard to secure it. Perhaps, she had a purposefulness in self-improvement and accomplishment. He liked that. And she at least had a professional vocation which might be useful.

He took a sip of the burgundy liquid content of his glass.

Soon, she would finish her studies and internship in New York, and leave. Or, at least, that what she should do. She would want a job. A lack of extensive professional experience - apart from the internship, most of it was the typical temporary and casual work taken by students. But, he did not need her to be very exceptional or established, only that she had good enough qualities to offer him. She did had some skills that might be useful, and which applied to tasks requiring attention for his personal assistant staff. 

It could have been easy to let her go now. She’d not see him again. What risk was there when she would be far away soon, and he had made her forget? But he had thought through all this now. He had made his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> This chapter had some inspiration from the following LaCroix perspective character studies. I think the characterisation of LaCroix by these two writers is spot on. So, I added my own spin on things, but also things I liked that they did with him too:  
> \- Prince of the Night by sister-b.   
> \- On White Shores by rednightmare.


	2. Strange Dreams and an Unexpected Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the positive comments for the first chapter. They are much appreciated. I am pleased by the feedback for my characterisation of LaCroix.  
> EDIT - I have completed a new draft of this chapter and some elements are different, although the general plot arch remains the same. Enjoy :)

Her eyes opened in the gloom. The slight sheen of sweat and fast beating heart of a nightmare.

A strange dream. A strange memory.

Amelia woke up in the early morning hours. The alarm-clockon the bedside table read 5:00 am. Her bedroom bathed in dark shapes, it seemed made only of solid shadows. Still night outside, with only a hint of light coming through the curtains. Perhaps, the artificial glow of the street-lamps that lit the city? Or, the first ray of sunrise penetrating the obscuring night?

This dream had been a restless companion for the past week. Though it had waned, this latest episode marked its return.

Although it came to her in the form of dreams, it seemed like a real memory. This familiarity bred unease. Normally, the terrors of nightmares died with their end. This was not so.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, her mind fixed on these thoughts. Her dreams replayed through that night again. A real experience, not imagination. But it was a fractured memory with disjointed scenes, as if made not her own will. There was difficulty in knowing where reality ended and wild imagination began. But something felt not right, and she knew it to be unnatural. When she put her mind to thinking about that night, she remembered some parts. 

The dream memory always started the same way, just as it had in real life. There had been nothing out of the ordinary… Initially at least. An event at the New York Public Library, held in its grand and ornate spaces. Marbled halls. Sweeping stairs. While studying for a semester in the city, she did voluntary work at some libraries and museums, including this one. It suited her hobbies, but was useful experience complementing her subject of study. She was a librarian and archivist.

The LaCroix Foundation had invited her because she was an intern, and they were associated with the benefit event held that night. Some said, the CEO himself was present. Although not a social butterfly, Amelia accepted the invitation because it was an opportunity for networking. However, she still felt overwhelmed by the city. Not a city-type in nature. And, had never been so far away from home alone.

Drawing the duvet up around her, she looked at her window as daylight returned more and more. The curtains were drawn, allowing only a dull half-smothered light, and yet it was reassuring. It was a comfort to the unsettled thoughts of her dreams. And yet still they lingered, and the lack of clarity confused her.

The unsettling scene that provoked her disturbance?

Later that night, she went wandering to escape to quieter areas. 

Passing a corner; then a dimly lit corridor half bathed in shadow. A man and a woman.

She may have felt blushing embarrassment at stumbling upon the intimacy of others, but there was more to it. The woman strangely still in his arms. Kisses on her throat.  It was an intimacy that seemed more violation than consensual. And something stranger which disturbed her.

Skin so unwholesome white, like the grey ashen shade of a corpse. And his movement, the arch of the neck; lick of the tongue across red wet lips. A subtle motion as he leaned over a hapless victim. More like the languor of a predatory animal satisfied by its triumph and about to slake its hunger, than simple human intimacy. 

Cold had hit her like a lightening fear.

And she diminished in silence. Too unnerved to linger. Something of that inhuman figure frightened her. She went with the nervous feeling of hunted prey, hoping dearly to evade the notice of a predator. She had a nervous energy ready to uncoil like a spring at a moment’s notice. On edge with adrenaline. Expecting the inevitable pursuit.

She walked away with wariness. A dreadful slowness. It felt like an age to make a reassuring distance, time almost slowed, and she dared not to move nor breathe should the creature notice her. But almost as soon as relief washed through her as she slipped back around a corner, she walked into something. On edge. Highly strung. She could have screamed.

Yes… there was _him_ to think about. And her thoughts dwelled on him, more than what had scared her. But her memory felt vague. Yet remained clear as day. 

She might have felt reassured by the presence of a man who seemed to give protection. He had reassured her; offered her safety. So it seemed. Fair-haired. Dark-colour suit of clear expense. His skin was so pale; and eyes were a clear grey. He had a handsome face. Given this, it was understandable to be fascinated by him, and that she was. This dream or memory lingered not just as a nightmare, but because this intriguing figure was hard to forget. 

Yet those grey eyes were frightening. They seemed to reach into the soul. At points, she felt as if they had a cold grasp upon her. Something in his gaze and disposition gave an uneasy feeling, as much as a fascination. 

The first time she encountered him was the most certain memory. Perhaps it was the sensory stimuli of touch - she had walked right into him. He felt cool… there was no sense in dwelling on that. She wasn’t touching him skin on skin so couldn’t be sure. But, there was something almost reminiscent of the other that chilled her to the bone. That same uncanny feeling. Although, this dissipated a little as he spoke to her. And she had the memory of his voice almost a velvet touch upon her skin. There was _something_ to him. She couldn’t help but think of him over the last few days since that night. She had a certain perception for the strange. The sense for it came to her now and then. And this was such an occasion.

What happened then? This she wondered. She remembered a little of the rest. Some of it was vivid. Some of it was vague. Maybe, it was all just a dream. But this could not true. It had been a real event; a real night - hadn’t it?

She glanced at the alarm clock again. An hour had passed! How deep in these thoughts she must have been? She let herself fall back down on the bed with a sigh. It was still early, yet not enough for it to be worthwhile to go back to sleep. The time would be spent in better ways than in her bed. Normally, Amelia wasn’t one for mornings. She preferred the night. The romance of its black hours. However, now she had reason to feel ill at ease, and she was nervous of lingering alone in it. Sometimes, such strange and dangerous characters were in the night. 

 

* * *

 

Later that day, Amelia went to the university library. She had pulledherself together after hanging around in her room for a few hours. Some of her motivation was to seek a distraction. Doing some work on her reflective portfolio was a useful aim. And would, she hoped, occupy her mind enough for a few hours. 

The library was built in 1888 in the renaissance revival style. It was dedicated to art; design; architecture and information science. The latter was her subject, but sometimes she looked at the art and design collections, because her undergraduate degree had included art history. She loved the impressive setting of that library, and would miss it.

Amelia had been in New York for one semester as an exchange student. But, having completed final assignments here, she would return home within a few weeks. And soon, all her graduate studies would be complete, save for putting the finishing touches to her reflective portfolio. That wouldn’t take too long. She had worked on it all year, and so it was a matter of completing the final draft. Otherwise, she only had to wait for her results and hoped she would pass. As she knew most of her module grades, save for the reflective portfolio, she could calculate a good estimate of her classification. Most of her results were high. All her assignments in New York were graded with at least a 3.5 GPA. Her performance at her home institution in the UK was similar. Perhaps not the top of the class - she wouldn’t be a “Valedictorian”, had that been a tradition at British universities. But her results were high and respectable, and it looked like she was on the right course. She sometimes put hard expectations upon herself, compared to others whom she admired, or perceived to be superior in certain ways to herself. But this stifled her own ambitions and potential in negativity and self-doubt. 

She was on one of the lower floors at the library. Taking up a desk hidden among the stacks in an obscure corner. It was one of those areas that had quite a few weird and wonderful volumes, some quite old, and one particular row of shelves seemed dedicated to several well known and obscure gothic and occult tomes. It added to the creepy ambiance of this darker and silent area. She liked that… Or, would have under normal circumstances. It made her feel a little weird. A strange synchronicity, given her persistent dream and recent memories.

She worked for few hours. She could see a chink of outside light through the window at the end of the long rows of shelving. This position because seeing it was reassuring. Normally it wouldn’t have bothered her, but she was still wary. There were golden tones of the sun getting low in the sky. It would soon set. Sighing, she put the lid on her pen and dropped it back into her stationary case. And then everything, papers, notebook and all, went into her bag. She was going home, but stopped by the cafe first. On the way out, she went past the gothic shelves. 

One particular book was emblazoned “VAMPYRES” in garish blood-red letters down its thick spine. It made her smile each time that it caught her eye. But today it was more of a morbid curiosity. Why was it interesting? She’d read plenty of books like that before… but she picked it up on a whim. There may not be another opportunity.

After leaving, she crossed the main campus quadrangle, and was at the coffee shop which had become her preferred haunt. The ambience and setting were trendy, but laid back; without the pretension that some places aimed at the young easily slipped into. The food and coffee were both nice and had reasonable prices.

She was sitting in a cosy corner of the banquette seating booths. It had an upholstery of smooth tan leather, with just enough lived-in feel to be stylish and luxurious. Whereas, something synthetic would fray and peel, rather than take on that handsome wear of the genuine article. It was easy to want to touch that luxuriant fabric. She loved good interior design and quality materials.

Taking a sip of coffee, her thoughts drifted back to this morning’s dream. It continued to linger. Not only because of the strange, unsettling scene of the male creature biting the woman’s neck. She’d only had a second’s glimpse and remained unsure. Perhaps, her imagination had built it up into more than it was. And yet, that night had disturbed her, and she couldn’t easily dismiss this. Then about the blonde man… his presence intrigued her, though it also piqued her intuition with an uncertain fear. It was what he said to her. This replayed in her head, as if the memory was returning to clarity again.

 

* * *

 

She recalled flashes of memory. Of him guiding her away from the scene. Inviting to take her home. Being in the limousine. Black leather seats, the material crisp quality under her fingers. He sat beside her, though there was a comfortable distance between them. The interior was dim; the shadows cast the angles of his face in relief. His eyes seemed almost luminescent. 

Watching the streets roll by. Nearly home…

“We won’t be too long, I imagine,” he glanced through the windows. His grey eyes surveyed the passing scenes, though his interest and manner was aloof; above the fray. The lights illuminated his handsome profile. 

“What is your name?” He turned his attention to her again, and his voice seemed almost soft.

“Amelia.”

She couldn’t remember if he’d told her who he was. She still didn’t know that…

He’d asked her what she’d seen. And, she could only tell him about it in vague ways, because she didn’t understand the exact truth. He had got more out of her, than she remembered. Sometimes, it seemed like the conversation lasted a long time. At others, it felt like it had been so brief. 

He asked her about herself, prompted perhaps by what she was doing at that event in the first place. 

“Well, I volunteer at the library, during the semester I’ve been here. I’m an exchange student…” She may have gone into more details about what her study area and professional training was, but she wasn’t sure.

“I see. You are from England, yes?” He paused, “you will return home soon then.”

“Yes. I’ll have finished at university at home too. In a couple of months, anyway.”

“What plans do you have then?” He seemed to make small-talk with her, which she found awkward. But with him, she remembered it as feeling easy. 

Her eyes dropped, and she picked at her skirt, “… I haven’t secured a work position yet, I’m still looking at the moment. There might be some opportunities with potential. I haven’t decided yet.” 

The car slowed to a stop. She was about to go home, and part ways with him.

“Well, I wish you success then. You will find something.” He sounded so sure. She wished to have that assuredness in herself. “In fact, I might know an opportunity that would suit you. I’ll keep you in mind.” His expression was still fairly aloof, but his voice was soft and inviting, “until then…”

 

* * *

  

“Would you like another coffee?” Amelia jolted out of her daydream. She’d been staring into space for a long time, and she almost jumped when the waitress interrupted.

“Oh, sorry. Erm, no it’s ok. I’m fine, thanks.” She shook her head; smiled almost forcefully. She relaxed her hands when she realised that she’d been gripping onto the table edge.

The waitress went away. Amelia sighed, feeling her pulse gradually return to normal. She gathered her previous thoughts again. Did he really say he might know an opportunity suitable for her? That he’d keep her in mind? She couldn’t quite sort the real from the imagined. Yet, it seemed more the former than the latter.

But how could she ever be in contact with him again? She didn’t even remember who he was. Was he real, and not a figment of her imagination? She thought hard, in fact her brows furrowed from effort; trying to find a name hidden somewhere in her mind. Did he have her details? One weird coincidence happened when she’d checked her business cards stack yesterday. She felt almost foolish having something like that, but it made a nice little graphic design project for herself. It was useful and she might as well take advantage of facilities… She was sure she’d had 6 printed. She checked several times, but one was missing. Had she given it to him? That meant the whole thing was real - he was real - and not all a dream.

Over the last few weeks, her thoughts had turned to thinking about jobs, and had registered at recruitment agencies, and made some graduate position applications. But, she had yet to complete anything. Some opportunities required greater experience than she possessed. Perhaps, another internship or a temporary contract might be favourable to her, and both were likely scenarios to arise.

Thinking about this made her a little nervous. Sighing, she looked out of the window. The skyline of skyscraper sepulchres to power, wealth and commerce. The sky itself had dull clouds full of rain. She should have brought her coat… 

After graduating from her BA degree, she failed in securing graduate employment or schemes immediately after graduation. This was because of a lack of confidence and self-doubt, rather than actual inferiority. There had been many options. Like the feeling this city gave, she felt overwhelmed and unsure. During that time, she did a variety volunteering; temporary work, and intermittent unemployment benefit, which she found slightly humiliating. But, it had added to her work experience and resilience. Sometimes struggle was necessary. She had the ability and potential. She was a personality motivated by achievement. All she had needed was a goal.

So she applied to graduate school. Having entertained becoming a librarian or archivist before, she chose to study a MSc degree in that subject. It was at a good London university; one of the best graduate programmes. Though she wasn't a big-city person, the opportunities were many, so it made sense. Likewise, the choice of study abroad in New York was for the same reason. Given her concern for career prospects, she focused on the discipline in business settings - hence an internship at the LaCroix Foundation. She still had historical interests, with training in archives, records and special collections - antiquarian books; manuscripts; curation and preservation etc - and that knowledge was still useful. As for New York, she’d be back at home soon… but perhaps only temporarily.

A few mornings ago, she received an interesting offer. At the time, she was packing; having no more studies, and her tenancy contract ended soon. She wanted to get everything organised in advance, rather than last minute.

It was an email from Matthew Hofer, a manager at the LaCroix Foundation.

_[Subject: An Offer]_

_Miss Amelia Siddall,_

_It was nice meeting you again last week. I have been asked to forward an enquiry for your attention. As you are aware, it is not unusual for an offer of employment to be made to successful participants in our internship programmes._

_However, this position is slightly different from what is typically offered. The CEO would like to recruit a new personal assistant to join his private staff, specifically someone of your qualifications and experience for projects that need attention. As the organisation is currently expanding in Los Angeles, there is much work to do in this regard._

_I have attached further details for you to read. Please, do not hesitate to respond and to ask questions if you are interested, and we can discuss further._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Matthew Hofer._

She had stared at this email, reading it over and over. Hofer was a senior associate, and so she rarely saw him, although he had been on an interview panel. When she thought about it, she couldn’t think of ever seeing him except in the late afternoons or evenings. He was interesting, if somewhat unusual. Strangely, some employees in his department seemed to follow a certain pattern… But anyway, he was in New York too at the moment. In fact, he had spoken to her a little at that event last week, which had been the setting for the strange dreams. And, ever since the day she got this email, she dreamed about it again.

The vacancy was based in New York, and she was a little intimidated by the details. She had considered private staff positions, but did not expect to get anything for someone like Sebastian LaCroix, the CEO of the LaCroix Foundation. She was unsure if she would really be qualified for it. This must be an error! Or, perhaps not - she had interned at the LaCroix Foundation. She had suitable qualifications… But this could not justify it. Why would she be chosen to work for the CEO himself? Apart from some temporary jobs, volunteering and short work placements, her only real professional experience was that internship! This puzzled her. Wouldn’t she need greater secretarial and PA experience, neither of which she had? But, despite her doubts, she had sent a reply expressing interest, and curiosity for further details.  

_[Subject: RE: An Offer]_

_Thank you for your email. I have read the attachments given by you, and I am very interested. However, I would like further details and clarity regarding the duties and responsibilities, if that is ok._

_I have been in New York as an exchange student, as part of my graduate programme, MSc Information Management at ‘the University of—, London’. I have completed studies, and will graduate with a forecasted merit classification (GPA 3.7). I have completed a portfolio for my degree module projects, which I can also send to you, if that would be useful._

_For reference, I have attached my updated CV._

_Kind regards,_

_Amelia Siddall_

That was just under a week ago. And since then there had been further correspondence; a meeting and she’d spoken to one of LaCroix’s PAs on the phone. They had made her the offer. 

Apart from her dreams, she thought about whether to accept. She had a weird feeling of synchronicity, like there was a relationship between this and her dreams about that man. She wondered if… no. Maybe? 

There still caution with which she considered the offer, but she felt drawn to agreement. It was as if a sense of fate push her to it. 

It was a temporary situation for a few months. The salary was decent and included accommodation expenses. The prestige alone was an attraction. There wasn’t a real reason to refuse, apart from a reluctance to be far away from home. But  it was temporary. Otherwise, she had no serious ties or commitments to prevent her. She had some university friends, but she felt the closeness ebbing away. And she had no romantic prospects either. Actually… she’d begun to feel slightly ill at ease with that than she had before. As a teenager she was a shy, bookish girl; sheltered and more focused on her educational goals than sex or romance. But at twenty-three, it would be nice to make consideration for both… But why did she think of this? It wasn’t relevant. She sipped the last of her coffee. It was almost too cold to enjoy now, and only the milk froth remained. 

She got home wet by rain. And then thought about the offer more. She needed to decide. And eventually, she typed a response in acceptance. After a pause, she shut her eyes and clicked “send”. A sense of relief and trepidation. 

The next evening, she received an email.

_[Subject: RE: An Offer]_

_Dear Miss Amelia Siddall,_

_My associates have notified me of your interest following your correspondence and meetings. I am pleased by your acceptance, and confirm that you have successfully secured the position. You will report directly to myself, but will work with my personal staff and report to them for day-to-day matters on my behalf. We can discuss your exact start date. However, I would prefer that you start within the month._

_An official offer letter will be sent to you shortly, with the specific details and terms, for your benefit. Please return a signed copy as soon as possible._

_I look forward to meeting you. And please, do not hesitate to contact myself or my PA, should you have any questions._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Sebastian LaCroix_


	3. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia goes to work at LaCroix's house.

It was a winter night. Amelia Siddall stood on the sidewalk, glancing back as the chauffeured car pulled away. She clutched a piece of paper - a confirmation letter with instructions she scrutinised. How silly she might look if she was in the wrong place. She slipped it into her leather handbag, the better one she owned - she should at least look the part. Just over a month since her acceptance of this position, it was her first time back in the city. 

In front of her was a townhouse, looming several storeys high. The exterior lights had a red-orange glow, which reflected on the long windows. Wrought-iron bars of fencing marked the perimeter. She buzzed the intercom at the gate. And there was a pause. A low sound as the gate rolled open. With access granted, she went through with her luggage, and the gate closed behind her more suddenly than expected. Once up the threshold of stairs, at the front door she looked around for a bell or intercom, but there seemed to be none. Behind her, the gates were shut. There was no one else around. A dull glow through the windows, but it wasn’t possible to look inside. A cool breeze caught her dark hair, and her warm breath steamed on the chilled air. She hoped that she wouldn’t be outside for too long.

The front entrance was a double door of solid wood, but no glass. She would use the door knocker, but found that the door yielded to even this light touch. Her brows furrowed, and she sighed.  _Had it been unlocked all this time? And I just stood there like an idiot_. She pushed the door open, realising that there was no one behind it. As was a common architectural feature of old houses, there was a small vestibule - a porch between the front door and a set of French doors. A glimpse of the interior through the glass panels showed it to be grand, just as the facade had promised. Like the first set, these doors were unlocked. Her gaze drifted up to take in more of the interior revealed to her. The entrance hall was of a handsome classic design, not unexpected of this type of property.

She looked around, “hello?” No response. Not sure what to do, she went to the table at the centre of the room. Perhaps, something there might give her clues. Glad to get the cumbersome luggage out of the way, she left them beside the doors. 

The table was a glossy rosewood and the only item of note was a neat envelope. It had her name on it. Unfolding the embossed paper, there was a note written in an elegant hand.

Welcome  _Miss Siddall,_

_Forgive me for the absence. There were some last-minute changes, and unfortunately, you could not be notified at short notice. But, I trust that your journey has been a safe and pleasant one._

_I believe that you will find the suite I have provided you comfortable and the amenities sufficient, so please make yourself comfortable. Also attached with this letter, are some details for you to read._

_Someone will meet with you soon, so wait here or in the study._

_I look forward to seeing you, perhaps tonight or another. We shall see. As it is late, I will not expect you to start early tomorrow, and so you may have the day to settle in. Sleep well tonight._

_Yours,_

_S. LaCroix._

Somehow, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. It made her feel at ease. LaCroix seemed nice. She had heard vaguely of the man, but he was somewhat elusive. He was a businessman with several lucrative ventures, and CEO of the LaCroix Foundation. She had interned there, but being a simple intern meant she had never met him in person, nor was ever likely to. Few did, except at exclusive occasions and in business. However, of his personal self, that was little known. Perhaps, it was so mundane as to be not worth mentioning. Or, it was quite the mystery. Either way, the thought of meeting him intrigued her…

She leafed through the other piece of paper enclosed in the envelope. Just some general guidance about where things were; where to go, et cetera. She slipped it into her bag. Moving deeper into the hall, through a door on the left was a cloakroom, a washroom and an elevator. The place seemed deserted.  _But who had unlocked the gates and front door?_

The study was a room just off the entrance hall. And, she may wait there as LaCroix had suggested, but she wanted to explore a little, while she had the time. The staircase, at the centre of the house, swept up to the next floors. In the daytime, she imagined this inner hall bathed in natural light from the skylight above. But now, there was just the cloudy night sky. She buttoned her coat up again. The house was chilly, and she was glad she hadn’t left her coat in the cloakroom. Seeing the interiors was dizzying. She turned on the spot; looking up at the overwhelming architecture of the stairway. The sofa beneath the stairs looked inviting. It was the first time she’d sat down to collect herself. 

It still surprised Amelia that they had offered her this position. For persons such as Sebastian LaCroix, it was not atypical to hire private staff. Plenty of agencies specialised in supplying that demand. It was just a temporary role, as a personal secretary. It diverged, therefore, from her vocation. But, it was a start. 

Some duties were administrative and clerical, as expected of secretarial work. There were still aspects of interest, and in which she had training and experience from her graduate degree and internship at LaCroix Foundation. For now, she was unsure of what area to focus on. She was interested in business or professional services for pragmatic reasons. However, her heart was in antiquarian and special collections material. But that area seldom had a surplus of vacancies, and those required extensive experience and established reputation. At least this role offered some opportunity in both. Some time would be spent at the LaCroix offices too, but otherwise she would work on things here. Hiring librarians or archivists for private individuals was rare, but not unheard of. Those of noble lineage, or Old Money families of great wealth and industry, often had collections and records spanning centuries. And those required professional attention, which your average secretarial assistants tended not to offer. But still. A young; inexperienced graduate seemed an unlikely choice. Absurd even. But  _she_  had the job. And so, she must excel.

A glance at her watch.  _Hmm, nine in the evening._ And still the house appeared deserted. She shrugged, deciding to visit the guest washroom while she waited.

When she came out again, she glanced at the entrance hall. A double take. Her luggage wasn’t there anymore! Her heartbeat quickened in surprise.  _Where had they gone? I put them in that exact spot, didn’t I?_

She checked the front door and found it locked. Turning around back into the hall, she called, “hello? Is anyone there?” 

Nothing. 

Now, she was quite puzzled. Someone else was here. And, if there were house staff, it seemed they were remarkably discreet, perhaps they were ghosts! She whirled out of the room, back into the staircase hall.

“Hey, you must be Amelia, right?” Out of nowhere, a man greeted her, with a likeable directness that added to the impression she had of him. Since being in America, she was growing accustomed to the accents. But the novelty remained, as before she had been familiar with them in films, rather than in person. He appeared to be in his thirties and was of average height. He had brown hair and blue eyes, that held a determined quality, mirroring the strong set of his jawline. Curiously, his clothes stood out to her for the seventies styling and this, along with the hardiness in his expression, struck her as rather Mafioso-like. However, she pushed that thought aside, thinking it fanciful.

“I am, yes,” she stood next to the sofa, a hand on it. “Do you want to see my ID or something, just so you know that I’m not an imposter?” She smiled.

“Nah. LaCroix told me to expect someone fitting your description,” he replied as if disarmed by her. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. Name’s Mercurio.”

“Nice to meet you. I was beginning to think I’d be waiting forever,” she smiled; shaking his hand as he offered it to her.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I was just doin’ something. Was just looking for you actually. LaCroix would kill me if I lost you.” This he said in a gravely earnest manner, and she wasn’t sure whether to take it as a joke.

She furrowed her brows, "oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t, really.”

Mercurio just smiled tightly. “I’ve taken your stuff up to your room already, in case you were wonderin’. I can take you up there now if you want. Or, maybe show you where some things are first?”

“Yeah, that would probably be useful.”

“Sure,” he led her. “Won’t take long. I’ll just show you the main areas. I suppose you’re pretty tired, huh?”

She followed him, talking as they went. On the lower ground floor, there was the main kitchen; a laundry room and other similar service rooms which it might be useful to know about. As they went up the staircase, he told her what was on each floor. She asked him a few questions. Some of his answers were detailed and the conversation pleasant. But, sometimes, he was evasive. 

“What do you do exactly for LaCroix, I mean?” Amelia followed him up the last flight of stairs, before turning into the landing.

“Oh, just a few jobs here and there. Actually, you probably won’t see much of me. I need to head out west to LA soon,” he grimaced, but did not elaborate. “LaCroix just asked me to “check you in”, so to speak.”

Amelia thought he was some sort of odd-job man. “Are there not, er, house staff to do that?”

He thought for a moment, his gaze shifting. “Yeah, there are. He has a PA, who you will probably see. Some others for housekeeping. It’s not unusual around here to have staff - housekeeper; domestics; cooks; PAs; nanny; security - you get the picture. But I don’t think he’s too fond of all that. Doesn’t need it all, anyway. Just the essentials.’’ He led her down a short corridor, dimly lit except for a wall-lights, and stopped in front of a door. “This is it.”

“Oh ok.” Amelia took the key he gave her. “What you said about staff. That sounds reasonable. I shouldn’t want so many people in my house if it was me. But, before you go, I’m curious. Is he here much?”

“You probably won’t see much of him, no. Not in the day anyway he’s - er, got business to deal with.” As he spoke she got the impression there was more to this than he let on, but she could not deduce what it was. Sebastian LaCroix was a CEO of a major company. Apart from that, he probably had other important engagements in matters of business, finance, governance and other elite activities, which such people often involve themselves in. She did not therefore think to question the truth of him being away during the day. “In fact, he’s busy most of the time. So, you might not even see him at night either.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

Mercurio laughed, “you sound almost disappointed. Want to meet the main man real bad, huh? Well, I think he does want to see you soon, or so I’ve heard.” He saw that her face lit up a bit, as if to say - “really,” with the enthusiasm of naiveté. “Just so you know, he’s not exactly, erm,” he grimaced, as if something made it hard for him. “Well, he’s not the most easygoin’ person, just to give you some warning. Although, for what it’s worth, I’ve only met him in person a couple of times.”

“Well, with someone like him, I kind of expected as much,” she gulped. Worried about doing a good enough job, or even being qualified enough. She dreaded the thought of making mistakes, or to be seen as incompetent. The reference from this engagement could prove invaluable. It might be a step forward for her, and she didn’t want to mess up the opportunity. “But, I will see. I’m sure he’s not a monster.”

Mercurio smiled thinly. Something passed behind the eyes. “No… No, I guess not.”

“Ok, well it was nice meeting you, Mercurio,” she said as they paused outside the door of her room. “I hope we meet again. Have a nice trip to Los Angeles.”

“Yeah, thanks. To be honest I’m  _not_  looking forward to it, but what can you do,” he shrugged. “Night, Amelia. I hope you find it ok here.”

Finding herself now alone, she took a short tour of her rooms. She was staying on the sixth floor, in one of the two suites here, although the other was empty. These rooms were likely built for live-in staff, but now the layout was refurbished. It was doubtful anyone would feel demoted or deprived. It was almost a self-contained apartment, with a bedroom, a lounge and an en-suite bathroom. Perhaps the only deficiency, there was only a kitchenette which was practical enough for the basics, but small. If she wanted to make anything more elaborate, she could go to the main kitchen on the lower ground floor. Or, even dine with LaCroix himself on some occasion!

When this arrangement was first proposed to her, she was unsure of it. Living in her employers’ property seemed odd. She was unaccustomed to live-in staff work, belonging to the modern age, wherein this was less usual than previous eras. It might have seemed unseemly, but the house was extensive. There were several floors, and the property housed some smaller apartments that were self-contained, and hers was one. However, the principal apartment presided over most floors. There were many rooms and several bedroom suites. Though, not  _the_  most elaborate ever built in Manhattan, it was amongst the more impressive of townhouses. Many of those Gilded Age mansions were demolished, making way for skyscrapers. Or, converted into high-end duplexes, boutiques, hotels, department stores or galleries. Few, in their original late-19th century glory, remained. 

Coming back into the centre of the bedroom,  _yes_ , she thought,  _this is all right_. She felt more at ease with the arrangement of almost living with LaCroix. Likewise, she could never have afforded even a little apartment in this area, so it seemed like a kind and convenient gesture.

She sat on the edge of the bed. It had a canopy and seemed antique. In fact, the interior and furnishings was altogether well-appointed, but like being teleported into the early 1800s. LaCroix was not fond of modern design. 

Her eyes felt heavy. Her body wanted rest. But it was not yet late at night, and she needed to do some unpacking, and write in her journal. She wanted to start journalling more, and this adventure presented a perfect opportunity. She caressed the soft bedcover under her hand. Perhaps, just a nap.  _I’ll just do most of the unpacking tomorrow_ , she shook her head. The bedding was enveloping luxury. She could have sighed; sunk into this embrace of comfort, being so ready for sleep.

 

* * *

 

The following day, Amelia slept in until around midday. It was essentially a day-off, and she didn’t see anyone else. A breakfast, more accurately brunch, had been laid out on the round table in the sitting room. _I could get used to this_ , she thought while nibbling a piece of rye bread, and looking out of the dormer window on the cityscape. It was quite a cloudy day.

The rest of the afternoon was spent loitering about in her room. She did some unpacking; arranging her belongings to make the rooms homely. The wardrobe and armoire were both quite big, and so she hadn’t brought enough clothes to fill either completely. Later on, she did a bit of journal writing, making use of the _Secrétaire._ Her journal was open on the leather writing pad while she wrote. Just after completing a final sentence, there was a knock at the door.

Turning half around in her seat, she stared at the door a moment. And then went to it, almost timidly, opening it slightly ajar. Outside the threshold was a girl, not older than Amelia in age, perhaps younger, and a bit shorter. She was quite pale-faced and a little weary-eyed. However, for the most part, she seemed relatively chipper.

“Hello,” she said earnestly. The girl held a piece of paper. “Master LaCroix asked me to deliver this to you.”

“Oh, thanks,” Amelia took the paper from her hand. “ _Master” LaCroix? What was this? The 19th century?_

“Would you like me to take those away for you?” The girl noted the finished plates from breakfast on the table.

“Er, no, you don’t have to. I can wash them myself in the kitchenette here, that’s fine.”

“No, I’ll take those for you,” the girl insisted. And so, Amelia felt she might as well let her in, opening the door fully. The girl went towards the table and began tidying it, stacking up the plates and cups.

“Do you work here?” Amelia wondered if she also lived-in. Some properties here still had accommodation for housekeeping staff, so it was not unreasonable.

“I do some of the housekeeping. But at other houses, and some offices as well.”

“Ok.” Amelia was not used to having domestic staff cleaning for her, except when she had stayed at hotels. So this was a little weird, but she could go along with it. She’d just think of herself as being on holiday, except that there was work to do. “Thanks for that, er, what’s your name?”

“Leticia,” the girl smiled, holding the tray in both hands, as she stood in the doorway.

“Ok, well, thanks Leticia. Have a good evening.” She watched her go down the corridor, before shutting the door again.

Leaning back on the door, it was still unfamiliar to be in a setting where private staff were normal. But, after all, she was really no different to Leticia. It was just that she was doing administrative work, rather than cleaning. Actually, her grandmother had been a domestic servant, a parlour maid, so Amelia was not one to feel superior. In an earlier time, she too would likely have had such a job.

Once opened, the note read:

_“I’d like to see you at nine tonight. You may wait in the drawing room on the second floor._

_\- S. L."_

_Hmmm, another note from LaCroix._ _So, I’ll be meeting him soon_. A mixture of feelings went through her. Nerves, but also a little excitement. It was better to know for whom she worked. And it was good, almost surprising, that he was actually bothering. It was quite believable that someone like him would have little to do with a simple secretarial employee. So, the fact he seemed to take an interest was refreshing. 

Still wearing her nightdress and dressing gown, she needed to get ready. She could hardly meet LaCroix dressed like this! It was 6pm, and so there was a couple of hours available.

 

* * *

 

Downstairs in the drawing room, Amelia paced the floor a little as she waited. In the mirror above a console table between the long windows, was her reflection. She hadn’t done anything elaborate, but she looked quite nice. Just bushed her hair, and let it hang as it naturally did in dark, thick waves, framing her face. She wore a deep-blue skater dress with mid length sleeves. It was smart, well-made, and fitted her well, but was casual and not overly glamorous looking. It wasn’t a date after all. 

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed. It was just past nine at night. _I wonder where LaCroix is?_ She turned on the spot; her back to the room as she brushed the curtains aside and looked out of the window. It was almost pitch black outside, if not for the lights of the city.

Just a casual glance, her eye caught something in the mirror.A glimmer of light from the gallery outside. A chance reflection of a figure, striking due to his familiarity. She whipped around, thinking this a trick of the light; or a figment of imagination born from a dream.

At the opposite side of the room, it seemed out of the shadowy darkness, was a man. Fair haired; of an average height and build, and dressed in a dark suit. He was occupied in reading some papers, which were held in one hand. His light eyes scanned over them; his pleasing profile and bearing an air of casual hauteur. He had noticed her, though he did not rush to greet her. And it was almost brusque when he did acknowledge her. “Miss Siddall, good evening.”

She stared at him. “…er, good evening.” She felt almost rooted to the spot. It was hard to articulate any words,“Mr.?”

“Sebastian LaCroix,” he replied. Even his voice seemed to sound through her, as one to which she was familiar. She noted that his pronunciation of his name was the correct way, unlike others who did not. She assumed that he himself was of French extraction or descent, although his accent seemed to show little trace of it. He put the papers down on the side-table, and then his full attention turned to her. “Forgive the lateness of this meeting, and that I was not here to welcome you yesterday. But, you see, I had some business.”

“I understand,” she nodded. Almost entranced as he approached her. The whole thing seemed almost surreal. She had dreamed of him. And so, all the more to be in a sea of wonder at seeing him now. It meant that it was not a dream at all. Yet, she was not quite sure how to broach _that_ subject. Perhaps, if she did, he would think her mad. Or, of an overly romantic imagination. “Thank you for letting me know in your note yesterday, by the way. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I came in, so it was thoughtful of you.”

“Pleasure,” he almost smiled. With a courtly gesture, he bid her to sit down. “Do you find your room acceptable?”

Sitting down on one of the sofas in the room, she was still a little nervous. “Yes. It’s very nice. I suppose, I’ve only been in it one night. And I’ve started unpacking… er, but I think I will like it.” It felt awkward answering; like she was just rambling. But she wasn’t capable of much else at this moment.

“Good. If you need anything, or if something is wrong, let it be known.” He went over to the sideboard, which had some decanters. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Yes. Actually, I am quite thirsty,” she affirmed, “just some water?”

He poured the glass and passed it to her, before sitting on the chair to her left. She sipped it, and held the glass in both hands on her lap.

LaCroix asked her about her journey yesterday, and she told him some of the details of it. He also asked of her experiences on arrival. Apparently, she answered his questions in such a way that she unintentionally revealed some deficiency in Mercurio’s conduct.

He scowled a little. “Nothing was brought to you? Mercurio should have arranged that.’’

“It’s ok. I guess he forgot,” she shrugged. It was only that he hadn’t brought her supper last night. But it seemed that, at times, Lacroix could be very exacting.

“Perhaps, but he _was_ remiss. He’ll be reminded of it.” A slightly sinister undertone. Now, she could sense why Mercurio had told her LaCroix was demanding. “Speaking of which, have you eaten yet today?”

“I had breakfast earlier. But that was quite a few hours ago now. I am pretty hungry actually.” In truth, she was quite famished. She hadn’t eaten in… hours? And so, the thought of it was appealing to her, even if it was quite late at night.

“I see. Well, come, we can go to the dining room. A meal can be brought for you there.” He rose from his seat and she followed his lead, taking her glass with her. He opened the door, letting her pass first, then went across the staircase gallery, through to the opposite doors. Beyond those, was the dining room. Paintings were on the walls and it was furnished with antique furniture; it was in an early 19th-century style. At the centre was the dining table, a solid piece of furniture that extended to a great length, but at the moment was at it’s smallest, seating up to six.

“Please, sit down,” he gestured to one of the chairs.

She slipped into the seat to his left, as he took the head of the table. Something had been arranged, and after a short wait, a meal arrived. A very delicious supper. But it was only for her.

LaCroix observed the young woman. She was just as he remembered, it seemed that little had been changed in her appearance since then and now. Hetalked to her only a little while she ate. There was only a passing curiosity in him about what she was eating, given that the enjoyment of food was for him a distant memory. And, besides, he did not really miss it. When it came to pleasure in consumption, he had a _very_ different interest. One that he did not want Miss Siddall to become aware of yet.

“You know, I feel a little greedy eating while you are not,’’ Amelia paused to take a sip of water.

“Don’t hesitate on my account. I have already dined,” LaCroix seemed quite genial then, though she could not discern why.

“Plus, I suppose it is quite late. Er, do you have dinner out a lot then?” She looked at him inquisitively.

“Sometimes.” He didn’t elaborate. She didn’t press the subject, because there was no reason to.

She finished the last few bites of her meal, before setting down her knife and fork. 

“I take it you enjoyed that,” his grey eyes drifted over her plate, noting that it was completely empty. She was quite a petite woman, yet seemed to have a good appetite.

“Yes, it was good. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was,” she laughed. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“It’s no trouble, Miss Siddall. The least I could do.”

Sebastian LaCroix seemed relatively affable. Her impression of him was positive on the whole, at least so far. They talked for a little while longer. Some details about her work and such. The conversation gradually warming up from the slightly surreal, cold place it had been. Her curiosity was strengthened, and she felt a shade more daring. She wanted to ask him about that night they’d met before, and which she now knew was real, even though parts of it remained mysterious.

“Can I ask you a question?” She waited for his affirmation to proceed.

“I suppose. What is it you would like to know?”

“We have met before now, haven’t we?’’

He looked at her, his grey eyes seemed to bore into her, as if discerning her intent. “ _Yes_. At the event at the public library. A fortunate encounter.” He did not elaborate on the darker aspects of that night, referring not at all to the creepy scene which had caused her confusion, and some angst, ever since. “I told you then, I would consider you for a position, should a suitable one present itself. That it happened to be for myself, was merely coincidental.”

“Ok.” She closed her eyes, finding some self-assurance. “But, why the secrecy? You could have made it clear to me when the offer was made, so I’d know the context. As it was, it seemed to come from nowhere.”

“Perhaps. However, the offer details were already quite clear. Even though this role is not typical for interns offered a position, your internship with us had a bearing on it. And so, that fact, together with your particular vocation, and meeting you face-to-face, made the decision to hire you a prudent one. I had a vacancy. You were suitable. Now, perhaps you can forgive me for creating a little mystery. I’m sorry for surprising you." He glanced away. Some self-reflection. "Perhaps, I ought to have been more transparent.”

“Well… I guess I knew. I guess it was alluded to, just in an oblique way,” she fell into agreeing with him. She had a feeling that with him, it was easier to catch a fly with honey than with vinegar. And ultimately, it didn’t really matter. She had always known that the offer and the first meeting with him were connected, if before only as a sense of fate.

His eyes beheld hers again. “Well, that settled, now seems a good time to retire,’’ he rose from his chair. “It is quite late, you should go to bed.”

“I suppose so. When should I be up tomorrow?” The end to this conversation seemed sudden, and yet, when she glanced at the clock, it _was_ near on midnight.

They moved through the door into the gallery, and she stood at the foot of the stairs. She rested her hand on the polished wooden stair-rail, almost as reassurance for her nervous hands.

“Much the same as today, if you like,” LaCroix replied. “You will be briefed on your tasks then, so try to sleep well.”

“Oh, ok." she said, lingering on the stair. "Well, good night then."

“Good night, Miss Siddall. It was pleasant to see you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm sorry this update has taken a while. However, I hope it was enjoyable enough to make up for it :)


	4. Chapter 4

Amelia locked the apartment door behind her and stood with her back against it for a few moments. She had just come back upstairs to her apartment after talking to Sebastian LaCroix. Before this, she had never expected to see much of him, except on rare occasions or in passing. So meeting him now on the second night of her stay had been a surprise. The conversation, though brief, put her at ease - mostly. It would have been a normal, even mundane meeting with her employer… had it not been for discovering that this was not the first time they had met. That was mortifying. An uneasy dread buried and half-ignored within. But she didn’t want to show it.

So now, with her adrenaline of anxiousness, the solitude here was soothing.

What to think? He had admitted to meeting her before, and that he had offered her the job as a result. Perhaps she shouldn’t dwell on this so much. It was just… That night on which she had first encountered him had haunted her dreams. Those had faded. She could rationalise them as fantasy. But this changed things. At least part of it was real… Her attendance of the event itself was never in dispute, but her memory of Sebastian LaCroix had been, and so this confirmation resolved some uncertainty.

But this brought problems too. _Was all of it real?_ A disturbing thought. But one that had lived in her as a dark knowledge she did not want to be true. Maybe from a glimpse of something she had got the wrong impression. Sometimes, she was sure that she had a sense for the supernatural. No stranger to feeling icy dread that grew oppressive - of past evil and tragedy; hauntings of an evil presence. Most of these experiences were faint. From a vivid imagination, all could be her mind spinning ideas out of nothing. That evil entity was surely of this origin, even though the memory was etched too deep to forget.

So what if her conversation with LaCroix was entirely real? That didn’t mean the strange scene nor unsettling intuitions were also. But the knowledge that the experience was partly true, led her one step closer to believing - perhaps even discovering - all of it to be.

Finally, she moved from the door. Shoes off and left by the coat-stand in the small entrance hall. She occupied herself with other things as a distraction to not think about it. Until she had changed and gotten into bed. Sleeping did not generally come easily to her, especially not early nights unless she was very tired. It was not that she was immensely troubled. It wouldn’t be impossible to rest easy. Maybe it was just excitement at the newness of the situation. Since she had picked over everything else over and over, there was little reason to dwell on it anymore without new facts. She’d have to take LaCroix’s word for now. In fact, she’d given so much thought to the connection between of having this job and the unsettling night from her dream, that she had scarcely given much reflection on what she thought of Sebastian LaCroix himself.

He did seem generally affable. He put her at ease, and she was in some way elated by the interaction with him. But on reflection, he was rather distant. Cold even. Perhaps, he was just professional and businesslike. And, for the first meeting (in this situation anyway), it wasn’t unusual for the conversation to not flow like they had known each other forever. Aloofness may suggest that genuine warmth was not to be expected from him. But since he was employing her for a temporary assignment, that didn’t matter so long as it was cordial.

About his aura, she felt an instinctual knowledge of... something. That same subtle unease from memory and dream had returned on seeing him in the flesh. He gave her a weird vibe. Even though she had only seen him briefly, there was something about him that made her know something was amiss. But, just as before, she dismissed it. She couldn't explain it yet.

And, as happens to most of us, she tended to ignore this intuition in favour of giving the benefit of the doubt, even though experience shows that feeling to be correct many times. And, if anything, it made her more intrigued. There was something different about him that unnerved and fascinated her. Too curious for her own good?

But the secrecy from him still troubled her. He must have hoped that she wouldn’t remember anything. Did he want to avoid unearthing buried memories, if he could keep them under wraps? But this seemed illogical, and from the brief conversations she’d had with him, LaCroix was not a stupid person. He must know that seeing him again would break whatever spell of subterfuge that had existed. But why was there a need for this at all? She wanted to know. This question and the curiosity for an answer would play on her mind for the coming weeks.

 

* * *

 

For the next couple of weeks since her arrival, Amelia had begun work without further incident.

Amongst other general office tasks, her main assignment was to catalogue and assess the condition of library collection items, which were quite numerous, old and rare. Many items had been here a long time, and so the previous records of what was here were old-fashioned, scant or non-existent. Did he need a librarian to do that? Perhaps not, but he wanted it done professionally, and the nature of certain items required specialist attention. And speaking of Sebastian LaCroix, she had yet to see much of him again, which came as no surprise. So, she was inclined to put her concerns and curiosities to the back of her mind, for now at least.

Amelia sat at the desk in the study, which connected to the library via bi-fold doors. Today had been much like any other since she’d been here. Typical office hours. Working in the study due to its proximity to the library, or in her room when it was possible.

It was almost 7:30 pm - later than she normally stayed. Leticia usually came to help her tidy and lock the items away, but she had yet to come. So, why not take the opportunity to stay longer?

She had figured out that the house was relatively deserted, and seemed remarkably quiet. As had been the case for several days, she was left to her own devices for long periods. She knew there to be some domestic staff - Leticia who would escort her here and back at the start and end of each day. But after that? Almost nothing. Early on in her stay, she had an introductory meeting with his personal assistant and had worked alongside for the first couple of days. But she had seen less and less of them since they were mostly at the corporate offices.

This stillness was normal in the night but, even in the day, she seemed to be alone, but for the feeling of being watched. It was obvious that she wasn’t being left to her own devices as much as it first appeared. Most doors were locked.

The house was large and Mr LaCroix was a person of great wealth. It did not make much sense for there to be no one but herself here. There were many very valuable items. Amongst other things, there was an extensive artwork collection, including several Old Masters - some Rubens and Titian - which stared down from the walls. A few were depictions of Cain slaying Abel - which struck her as philosophical on the subject of human nature, but rather morbid. One hung in the staircase lobby on this floor and had to be passed each time she entered these rooms. A sight that was awesome but ghoulish. Well, there was no accounting for taste. She found them interesting, but couldn’t begin to contemplate the value.

Because of the relocation to Los Angeles, there was a need to manage many items, evidently having amassed quite a lot of things, of which the library collection was just one part. And, in the same way as one might purchase these artworks or antiques for investment, some items that she was working on, no doubt, had great value. Several were old and rare, dating to the late 18th century, and in a variety of languages. With all this, she must not be left alone here so completely.

She wondered about the acquisition and provenance of some items. A book rested on a display cushion on the table. Leather-bound, with nice marbling on the endpapers. It was French; probably 1820s or 1830s. There were many similar examples. Perhaps purchased as investments since some books and manuscripts could fetch incredible sums, but she had not seen records for it. So, she had to assume that these had been possessed for many decades. LaCroix was relatively mysterious, but given his demeanour, she assumed he was from an affluent background - it would not surprise her if there was some Blue Blood in the mix. It was quite likely that the older items were inherited; first acquired by the family around their time of publication. She would ask him about it.

That would have to wait for some other day.

It was late and, still the winter season, by this time the night was well drawn in. She thought she ought to go soon. There seemed to be more activity at night, however, even then it seemed that LaCroix wasn’t here often. Staying a bit longer seemed okay, and she let it be known by sending him an email at about 5 pm. No reply yet.

Conscious of the time, the itch to leave and go back up to her apartment was present. To be honest, the longer she’d been here, the more the house gave her the creeps. Its oldness, and old but beautiful, fascinating things everywhere. Normally, she wouldn’t have minded - would have loved it. After all, her interest was in old things. But being alone in this quietness was unnerving.

She had music on sometimes to cut through the ambience. Quietly though, and usually with earphones on, which she had them on now, but nothing was playing. They did not muffle her hearing to anything in the room. Absorbed in writing her notes, Amelia looked at the laptop monitor, fingers toyed with her pen, and words lightly muttered as she read as if in a trance.

“Good evening Miss Siddall.”

She nearly fell off the chair. And leapt up in reflex like a startled cat. Leaning back against the table, her fingers gripped on its edge.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Standing a few metres from her and not far from the door, was Sebastian LaCroix. The lights were on, and though they were not extremely bright, her sight was not obscured. He spoke with the appearance of concern while approaching further into the room. “You must not have heard me come in,” he referred to her earphones.

Her heart still beating fast, she could feel the pulse throughout herself; hear it ring in her head. “No-no it’s fine.” Her words were nonchalant; put on as a breezy air. But the shakiness in her voice gave it away. _When did he come in!?_ Of his suggestion of her not hearing, she felt compelled to agree and it probably made sense ... but, she knew she would have heard him. Nothing had been playing, and she had a keen hearing. He must move very quietly indeed. Like a panther is stealthy to emerge from darkness when hunting its prey. But she won’t linger on this thought now. “Erm… did you get my email? I hadn’t got a reply so I was a bit uncertain.”

“I did.” He paused by her chair, which had been cast aside, pushing it back in place in one motion. “But, next time send it to my PA and they will pass the message along. Then, you shall get an answer more quickly.”

“Yeah, I should have,” she felt chastised, even if he may not have meant to. “You must be busy in the daytime.” He seemed to be busy all the time, and she had come to assume that he spent little time at home. He was nowhere to be seen in the day, but that did not strike her as unusual. He was surely at the LaCroix headquarters or doing some kind of business somewhere. But even in the night, it seemed that he was often out. Amelia had started to think that he actually lived in his office. Perhaps, he was a bit of a workaholic.

“You could say that.’’ Beneath the unfazed appearance, was some slight amusement, as though there was something she didn’t know. He circled to the side of the desk, his fingertips brushed the edge with masculine elegance.

“Well, I’ll take your advice next time.” She turned her head, her eyes following him. Brows furrowed; puzzled by what he’d said. “It’s just that as you live here, I thought I should let you know. I just stayed a bit longer than usual today to work on this. And, I assumed as no one seemed to be around, it would be ok? I don’t want to intrude.”

“It’s no matter. You’ve done nothing wrong," he waved dismissively. "Actually, it is quite timely. I intended to see you soon to see how you are progressing. I’ve had feedback from others and seen some of the work done so far. But, since you have been working on this yourself for the past week, I thought I’d see for myself.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” _Shit, I wish I had time to prepare_ , she thought. To be fair, it was not the case that she had no confidence in what she was doing and how she was doing it. But LaCroix, though polite, she found intimidating at times. He was, at least on first impression, cold and rather imperious, though hospitable on the whole. She could tell he could be exacting. The polite, elegant manner was just part of this same persona, not contrary to it. And that instinctive unease she had of him remained under the surface. This surprise had not helped.

“Shall we?” his voice broke this train of thought. He gestured to share the desk since it was large and had more than one chair. “You can sit back down, Miss Siddall. It won’t do to have you hanging onto the desk so awkwardly.”

She eased her grip upon the desk edge, and she sank back into her chair, adjacent to where he had sat. That surge of adrenaline, like stage-fright. Yet, projecting a professional air and knowing what she was talking about, gave her the feeling of competence which soothed her nerves.

“Well, since at the start we assessed the assignment documents and the collections records to give me an overview of what I’m working with. To be honest, the assignment reports were quite comprehensive. There doesn’t seem to be any faults in them so far as I can tell. The only issue could be if the previous old catalogues were incomplete, or if some items require more attention.”

“You were working on this with my PA, were you not?” An almost bored drawl. “I’ve seen some of the documents.”

“Oh, yes. Ok,” she looked at him wide-eyed. Uncertain of how to take his words. Chastising herself for rambling.

“The work looks good so far,” she felt relief wash over her; cooling the prickly feeling of uncertainty into pride. “And what you have been doing on your own these past few days?”

“I’ve started organising and working through individual items. I can show you.” She laid out some of the written work she’d done but mostly opened up some of the Word documents and Excel sheets she’d created. “Most of the time now will be taken up with making the condition checks and research backgrounds for each of them, and advise on storage and conservation. So, I can pull all this together to write up some reports.”

“Good. You can send those to my PA. You will be doing a final report I presume covering the completed assignment?” she nodded in response. “I’d like to see when you have completed it, but I imagine that it will be some weeks before you are ready.”

“Yes, I’d expect to complete that close to the end of my assignment here.”

“So long as it is on time, that is fine,” he asserted. “Do you have any questions or concerns?”

“Well,” she shifted in her chair. In several ways, this assignment warranted more experience than she had. She was qualified, but normally something like this would require a more experienced individual. The fact he had chosen her was just one of several strange aspects to all this. If there was one aspect of this position for which she felt inadequate, it was the ability in languages in rare book librarianship. She felt somewhat ill-prepared to deal with all of these since her linguistic skill wasn’t advanced. Perhaps her IT skills and knowledge of current information management practices made up for it. “There many volumes in several languages here. Many are English, but a great deal is French, and some German and Latin.”

“You are not fluent in them? Surely this does not require such advanced language skills - you are not translating their entire contents, after all.”

“It’s just that it’s good to have some linguistic skills to accurately record contents.” She knit her fingers, “It’s not a problem really, as I can do enough to properly catalogue and categorise them.”

“And you can’t do this?” he raised his eyebrows, and his sharp gaze appraised her.

“Oh, no I can. I know enough for that. It’s just,” she shrugged and looked down meekly, “I don’t want to give you the impression I can do more than I can.”

“If it reassures you, I wouldn’t have hired you I didn’t think you were capable.”

She asked him a few more questions, mostly for clarification of what he wanted to be done. Hoping not to appear incompetent, but he seemed to accommodate her inexperience. “You don’t mind that I’m asking you a few things, do you? I don’t want to get too rambling with this,” she joked.

“No, I rather that you ask than not at all. And, this is your first assignment since you graduated. You know what to do within your remit of skills and knowledge, I can tell,” his voice was slightly warmer, but with a tone of paternalistic advice. “A little inexperience and uncertainty can be excused. What you’ve done so far is perfectly adequate. Is there anything else?”

“Actually, there was something else I wanted to ask about,” Amelia tentatively searched his gaze.

“Yes? Go on.”

“Well, it would be helpful to know the provenance and background for some items, and the assignment itinerary said that there may be an interest in valuations, and so there were would be background information for each item. I wondered if you have any other information that would be helpful.”

“Are there no records of this in the archival files?” His gaze settled on her longer than usual. Helpful in the way of being helpful to her inexperience, but it felt dismissive; like veiled conceit.

“There is, but there doesn’t seem to be much documentation for the older items in that respect. I just know ages due to publication dates and acquisition, but no more than that.” Actually, it was rather vague indeed. “But, it’s not unusual for historical items to have scant physical records.” She shrugged - a placating body language. “Sometimes, it’s mostly verbal communication, so I thought I’d ask, that’s all.”

“Yes, there are some details I know that might help you,” he looked at her as if taking her measure. “But, if there is not much more information than in the files presented to you, then I’m afraid that’s all there is at hand to use. Don’t worry too much about this. The basics should suffice, shouldn’t they?”

“Yeah. It’s enough, but I,” she bit her lip and glanced downwards, searching for words, “to be honest, it’s more of a personal interest really. It’s interesting. Some of these are wonderful examples. A little history to them would add to it,” she added coyly.

A very slight upturn of his lips. “Well, I suppose I can grant you that,” he sighed. “Most of these old volumes are inherited, like several items in the house. Some are what I have collected myself. Many are… family heirlooms you might say. As you must have assumed by now, given that there are several languages, the multitude of French editions originate from my ancestors in Calais.”

It was common knowledge that Sebastian LaCroix was of French extraction. However, the details were not known to her, nor anyone publicly beyond the barest of facts. He had no trace of such an accent, which was to her ears some flavour of mid-Atlantic - the type once found amongst early twentieth-century American elite, once taught at prestigious prep schools, or heard by many actors of the Hollywood Golden Age.

“Yeah. I thought it would be something like that - given the dates. Some are really beautiful examples of printing and bookbinding and in good condition considering the age. Um, were you born in France, or originate through family?”

“The latter.” He said with simple finality.

“I’ve never been to France actually,” Amelia reflected. “I should visit as there’s a lot to interest me.”

“You should.”

“Have you been recently? I guess you would have more reason than I - since I’d be visiting as a tourist, but you have more connection to it of course.”

“Not for a long time,” he was almost wistful. “Since I was… quite young.”

He must have meant when he was a child. Yet, the tone was almost like he spoke of many more years in the past. She thought him not much older than her as he appeared youthful, not more than mid-twenties. His high position was impressive in that respect given how young he was. But since he seemed to come from wealth to her that dulled the achievement. It was easier with the right connections; money; pedigree; the best, most exclusive (and expensive) schools. None of which she could lay claim to. It was hard for her not to feel like a bit of a peasant in his presence. But perhaps she felt unjustly resentful due to insecurity. All the same, he was intriguing.

“Well, I suppose there’s always time again.” Her expression was sunny. “Would you like to?”

“Perhaps. But, not in the near future.” He was like a closed book.

“When were you intending to finish, Miss Siddall?” This question seemed abrupt after a passage of silence. Inquiring yet something furtive there.

 _This “Miss Siddall” again. Will he persist in only ever calling me that?_ True, this was a professional context. Too much friendliness would be inappropriate and more so given this arrangement. Although, he was rarely here most of the time. And, her apartment was within the property, but it was self-contained and accessed separately if one so wished. But this formality of address was unusual enough to be noteworthy. Like something out of a novel from another century.

“Oh, now I guess. I had meant to pack up just as you had arrived,” she blinked. “I was not sure what to do since I don’t have the keys. Usually, Leticia has come to help me lock everything away in this room, and let me out so I can go to my apartment here. But she hadn’t come.”

“I told her it wouldn’t be necessary since I would see you.” He stood up from his chair to leave but paused to pass her a set of keys which were for the library and several cabinets there. “Now you can stop tonight.”

“Yes”, she glanced around herself. “I’ll just put some of this stuff away first.” LaCroix looked on at her fussing, then continued to the door.

Her notebooks and an assortment of paperwork arranged somewhat haphazard upon the desk, and she could not resist the need to reorganise them into neat piles. She opened a ring-binder file and packed a wad of papers into it; flipping through the contents to find the right spot. Leafing through, many paper edges brushed the soft flesh of her fingertips, again and again with no consequence. But that paper caress turned to the sharpness of razors with a slice that burned.

“Ow,” she recoiled from the singeing pain, and looked at her finger, severed in the skin where the paper had cut her. Red droplets began to form, then became a slow stream.

Blood.

It was surprising how fragile a thing as paper could cut deeply. She kissed it to her lips. Which soothed the pain, though the bleeding lasted surprising long.

She’d been focused on this and shuddered on finding LaCroix much closer than she had first thought him to be. She turned her head, her eyes locked in his.

“You’re bleeding,” his voice was soft; more like a statement of observation to himself than really addressed to her. He was still and his gaze fixed. Then, he closed his eyes longer than usual, as if there was effort. This strangeness was brief and faded. But for that time, it was like a trance of longing. And she found herself fascinated too by this consuming stare. She had goosebumps. And she understood something then.

“What? Oh,” her eyes drifted dreamily back to her finger. “It’s just a paper cut. It’s fine.”

His eyes flickered to the blood trailing down her finger. “All the same, you shouldn’t leave it like that,” he muttered. His closeness at her side, which had been alarming, made her almost forget herself. Her face turned to his watching his expression. His grey eyes were enchanting, they seemed to have a brightness that was other and unlike anyone she’d seen. In fact, she almost wanted to - 

“Come now. It’s time to go,” his voice turned to the stony assertive tone that was more familiar. He strode to the exit without another glance, expecting her to follow. This woke her up from fanciful thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Outside the library, they were in the staircase lobby on the second floor. She watched him lock the library door and put the set of  keys in an inside pocket of his suit. There was something urgent about him. “I’m going to the drawing-room. Why don’t you stay awhile, before you go up.”

“Oh, I,” she was awkward and was uncertain if she should accept. “That would be nice. But it’s a bit late. Don’t feel obliged on my account.” Her finger was bleeding sometimes, so she was holding it. "Anyway, I'll have to go. I need a plaster, remember?"

"I had not forgotten," his light grey eyes glanced at her fingers, lingering there. There was no bleeding, but a thin red stain was on her skin, and the way he watched reminded her of the fixed stare of a cat. "It's stopped now."

"Yes," she nodded. "But, I don’t want to keep you."

A pause. He looked at her measuredly. “It was just a suggestion. You are welcome to stay for a short while if you want to. There’s nothing wrong with that,” he reassured. “But, if you’re sure…”

“Well, it’s just um, is that ok?” Warm redness rising on her cheeks. _What if he doesn’t mean that at all, and I’ve made things awkward now._

“It is if I say it is,” he scowled with finality. “I understand your concern. You have nothing to worry about though.”

“I didn’t think it would. I’m just unsure of what is, well normal.” She thought of strange intuition that always lingered around him in her mind. And also the way her bleeding had transfixed him. And then her thoughts drifted to that creepy creature biting and drinking blood in her dream about the very real night she had met Sebastian LaCroix. _What if… Oh_. “Plus, I didn’t want to be out late in the first place.”

A faint smirk. The shadows of the space fell on him, “you don’t like the nighttime then?”

“Oh no. I like it very much. It is the characters that lurk in it I’m wary of.” She asserted, dancing on the edge of flirting with him, but the coy glee returned to restrained neutral. She could be funny and bolder when she was on edge. “But, any way, I should go. I need to get up in the morning.”

"If you must," he sighed heavily. "You've been alone much of the time here so far, I'd have thought that would be quite isolating. You are welcome down here." He took a step away from her, and his voice cooled, "but, if you prefer not to, you're not under obligation."

"Well," her eyes drifted in thought, and she searched his gaze. In reality, she wasn't opposed to socialising with him, in fact she wanted to. She was wary of him for some reason, and yet drawn like a moth to a flame. But she was conscious that he had the advantage here, and she should not give him more. Her suspicion about him was now half-certain, though she wouldn't have the complete truth of it just yet...


	5. A Mystery and Encounter at the Library

Sebastian LaCroix waited in the drawing-room on the second floor. He watched the young woman as she was going down the central staircase, her hand skimming over the handrail. She was going to the lower ground floor for the first-aid box, but it would not be long before she was back again, and he was considering his next actions.

He’d had her here for a few weeks now - just under a month. Things were progressing well; the assignment for which he had employed her was on track for completion on time. It wasn’t an important task, but he had accumulated many things, and it would be useful to get them sorted before leaving here, so having someone with a specialisation in this area - rare book collections and archiving - would move it along faster and better. More to the point, he had wanted to observe her. A trial-run before making any long-term investment. He wouldn’t give his superior blood until he was sure it would be worthwhile.

This was why he hadn’t told her the reality of the situation yet, nor of the truth of what he was. Once that threshold was crossed, there would be more questions. He could tell she was an inquisitive type, which may be useful to him when allied to her research and organisation skills. However, in that same way, it could be dangerous to him as well. Although interested in the limits of her perception and deductive abilities - a test to see how long it would take her to unravel the truth - he didn’t want it to get out of hand. He didn’t want her poking around too much. Asking too many questions. Enquiring to outside people practised in reading between the lines to discover vampire activity... But he could manage the situation. She wasn’t anything. 

He could have chosen someone of greater experience and expertise than her, but as the work had required the candidate to come into his home, the fact that she was young and inexperienced was an attraction for him. She'd be naive and trusting; easy to handle.

Yet he was slightly on edge, but not out of apprehension of her. It was not long since he had awakened for the night - just over an hour ago. There was an edge of thirst in him. It had been convenient that she had placed herself here at this time. Usually, she had finished at least an hour before he was awake, and was cooped up in her apartment by the time the night came. But he let her have that privacy. Much as it was a popular trope in those crass vampire fictions, there was no need to pay any nighttime visitations there. 

It seemed a long time now since he had first noticed her. His first interest purely to feed, but due to circumstances had not partaken of it then. And had not intended to yet until she’d made more progress with the work. It was never a desperate longing. It wasn’t obsessive fixation upon this one individual. Not special. Just one of a selection of others that fit his preference.

Naturally, he was curious though. But he could afford to save her for later. She would be in his vicinity for a few more months, and there was no rush. He could keep her for an emergency, or wait to savour her blood for a suitable occasion.

But he might cut this wait shorter. 

Since he had not been awake long, and she was conveniently placed, it was an ideal opportunity to feed. There was no definitive plan to do this after the informal meeting in the library office, but it was in his mind. If he did, he wanted to make this subtle. It would not be hard to coax her into a situation that allowed him… whilst sparing her the knowledge, for now, of what he was doing. 

Then she had cut herself accidentally. A bad paper-cut. A surprising amount of blood, but minor. Nothing really. Yet it was a glitch in his plans. His waking thirst made him more sensitive. 

Her blood was…

The smell was all around. Almost in the instance that first tiny red drop formed on her delicate skin. The change in him was subtle; there was no dramatic revelation of his vampiric nature. He was accustomed to this after centuries - small cuts and minor bleeding were commonplace - so he didn’t fall upon her like a wild animal. But he was struck in attention like stone, stopping instantly at the door. Turning, his gaze fell back upon her. Though it was hardly anything, briefly there was that so familiar struggle in him and he needed to collect himself. She had her finger to her mouth, and for a second the thought came that he’d help her much better with that, but he dismissed it as vulgar.

A different mood then. A sense of closeness palpable between him and the human woman where it had not existed before.

He knew she was perceptive. Just how much had she noticed in his reaction? Not enough to remove all doubt, but it was an interesting experiment to see how much she might take note. However, he did not believe she would correctly interpret it even if she noticed something strange.

She was at least somewhat suspicious of him. He perceived that she sensed something amiss about him, and that was one reason he had chosen her for more than just a one-time feed. Some Kine had something akin to Auspex; it varied in potency and some so imbued were risky. At least, for now, this seemed to manifest in her as curiosity and fascination, rather than hysteria, aggressive suspicion and investigation. Let it remain that way! The truth would have to be revealed to her sooner or later, but not yet. 

He waited near the mantle-piece, half shrouded in the shadow, whilst in thought. He heard her steps coming back up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

_The drawing room overlooked the courtyard garden. There was a midnight blue blackness outside the windows. A warm glow from the floor light and table lamps on dimmer mode. A Gobelins tapestry on the wall. The interior was a regency opulence yet somehow cosy. But she had been here before. It was just that now it seemed more striking; glittery with nightfall enchantment._

_She sat on the sofa, in the style of Louis XV. Almost afraid to sit on it. It was plusher and more comfortable than it appeared. Her eyes felt heavy. Perhaps, she might fall asleep on it. Staring up at the decorative ceiling. The chandelier lights dazzling._

_Then, LaCroix came into vision. A glimpse of the darkness of the corridor beyond the door. And joined her there..._

_His fingers moved aside the dark hair strands that had fallen across her face. And turned her face with a gentle coax of his fingers. Her eyes looked into his unsurely. She could feel her stomach flutter. A warmth flushing her._

_She felt every breath she took as he leaned in. A kiss of his full lips on her cheek; and then softly against her lips._

_Wanting to be serene and relaxed, but inside was nervous with delight. Her legs pressed together, unconsciously squirming. She gripped his arm and wanting her body close to his._

_His fingers knit through her thick dark hair, to the base of her head, holding her there. And the other hand slid over the small of her back. His lips brushed her skin; the curve of her jawline, further down…_

_Her pulse raced; felt like her blood was rushing feverishly. And her chest rose and fell slowly, deeply feeling each breath and desperate for a calmness. The anguish of anticipation. She wet her lips. A little moan. She arched her neck in exposed surrender._

_And felt it._

_The soft press of his lips on her neck. Pausing there._

_She closed her eyes. Waiting. Wondering. Letting it happen._

_And then…_

 

* * *

 

Morning. 

The drab light of day glowed through the curtains. It was a dismal late winter morning, and it was raining. The sun almost obscured by grey clouds. It had been another few weeks since last talking to Sebastian LaCroix.

Softness all around. Enveloped in the bed, hugging the duvet like a body pillow. 

Amelia jolted awake. She had to stop dreaming like this. _What was that?_ She swallowed. LaCroix was a handsome man, not to mention distinguished by his wealth and success, but the mystery about him added to the appeal most of all. But she pushed that thought away. She shouldn’t think of him in that way. 

But… unsatisfied. She wished the dream hadn’t cut off where it had. Things were just getting interesting.

There was something different happening. What was it she wanted? What was he doing? This thing - a Kiss on her neck from him. It was like...

She got out of bed and went into the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror there. She looked at her neck, touching with light fingers where she’d been imagining he had. It felt so real, almost like she could still feel it now… but there was nothing at all. Her skin appeared totally unmarked. _Hmmm, weird._

Sebastian LaCroix possessed an intriguing aura. He had given her a subtle unease the first time she met him. And she thought of that other monstrous being - pale as a corpse - which opened a sharp smile to bite it's victim’s neck. A thin stream of blood down her skin...

LaCroix had a similar vibe, although less nefarious. If the truth came to her in dreams before, then perhaps this one was too. But she wasn’t sure. She felt he had not told her the whole story and was withholding something significant. She’d had a hunch it was connected to the blood-drinking thing she had seen. Now to be dreaming of LaCroix perhaps doing that to her? Although much more pleasant...

The disturbance of that first memory had died the more she encountered him, but small things about him drew her attention like a vague alarm. She knew something was wrong. Reason would say she should mind her own business, not ask questions and get on with the job, take the money and run. But curiosity made that hard. It was hard to resist the temptation to solve this mystery. These are the facts that troubled her.

LaCroix was professional and hospitable, though he could be demanding. He was genteel, sometimes in a way more akin to that of centuries past than of the present. But he didn’t seem old-fashioned or outmoded; he had too much youthful vigour for that to be so. Meanwhile, it was hard not to shake the unease. The more she saw of him, the more her awareness grew of a strangeness about him. 

If she only saw him at night, that could be explained. How silent he could be - when he had come into the library, he seemed to have appeared like an apparition and had given her quite a fright. When he had stayed with her for dinner, he didn’t eat. She’d never seen him do so… but, to be fair, she wasn’t around him constantly, and he probably dined at some other time. And yet…

Something was enchanting in his presence and gaze. His light grey eyes with a glance seemed to wither and penetrate one’s soul, even to feel impossible to look away, nor to do other than to please him. And, sometimes, when he looked at her there was something in them which she didn’t like. His countenance was remarkable. He was pale, but at certain times the hue of his skin was a deadly pallor without the warmth of life. His hands had little warmth also, although hers were not especially warm either... but given the rest, it might be noteworthy.

Then that subtle change in him when she had bled. How fixed in attention he was. The mood had surged with a difference then. He seemed to know instantly, as he’d come to her without seeing what had happened as if he had a sixth sense.

The thing that came to mind from all this was “vampire” - no matter how absurd it was. So fanciful; the stuff of folklore, fiction and movies. Superstitious ramblings… And yet, it all made sense. A lot of sense. Imbued with a sense of the uncanny and interest in antiquarian and rare books, she had a good knowledge of the history of witchcraft, demonology and folklore belief. There were many ideas about vampires - some zanier than others - and she couldn’t be sure what was fact. But many of her observations of LaCroix seemed to fit the bill.

  
But, if it is true, what can she do? Bide her time, gather evidence and do something about him like some kind of real-life Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Or, just bear it. There were only another two months - could she endure that? The first months’ pay might have given her resolve. It was a lot to her; more than she’d ever earned before. The accommodation was provided, and it was a good, mostly independent and relaxed working environment, with the benefit of an impressive addition to her résumé. Maybe, Sebastian LaCroix was not so bad, and she might not have much reason to fear him? And she had had no ties at home to go back to now, anyway. When offered this, it had been too good an opportunity to miss. But she’d had reservations. This dread feeling crept up on her slowly. A confirmation of the doubt she had when offered this position. This latest occurrence - his reaction to her cut, and then her dream of being bitten by him like a vampire, was perhaps the icing on the cake. A dreadful thought - _I hope he is not draining me in secret..._ But she’d need more evidence.

 

* * *

 

 As Amelia had a few days off, she was going to a course held by the Rare Book School to assist with her work and expertise. But she also thought it an opportune time to look at the collections at Columbia University. She might find something useful to her investigations there. 

She had a quick morning shower, and put on a grey knitted dress with long sleeves and fitted waist; paired with black tights and block-heeled ankle boots. The dress was one of her nicer items which she got while at university. In preparation for this job, she’d bought a couple of good quality clothes, just basic staples; nothing extremely expensive. Perhaps with the time off and payment into her bank account, she’d go shopping too. But, considering her concerns regarding LaCroix, thinking about fashion should have been the last thing on her mind. 

Leticia, who appeared to be LaCroix’s housekeeper, came to her apartment every couple of days, maybe to replace towels, refill things in the kitchenette, change the bedding and general cleaning up. This was like being in a hotel as it was essentially a serviced apartment, but Amelia wondered if Leticia was actually sent to check on her. After all, she did have the job of taking her to and from the library and office, so it was not unbelievable. 

Usually, Amelia had breakfast in her own room. However, the kitchen downstairs was apparently not used much, as it seemed like only she and Leticia actually made use of it. She was having breakfast there today in fact, and might get some clues out of Leticia.

“Is Mr LaCroix out today?” Amelia said after eating a piece of scrambled egg on toast. 

“I believe so,” Leticia answered, somewhat absentmindedly.

“I’d have thought he’d still be sleeping. It is early morning after all,” Amelia laughed.

Slightly flustered, “no. He’s-he’s not here.”

“Ok,” Amelia brushed it off. “I just have never seen much of him, and when I have, it’s at night. In fact, I was starting to wonder if he sleeps in the day,” she joked, interested in what reaction it might provoke. Leticia didn’t blink for a moment, and Amelia then lightened the mood, “but hey, there’s a lot of people like that. Sometimes, I’d rather do that actually. I’m more awake at night.”

“Yeah…”

“How long have you worked for him by the way,” Amelia said casually, putting down her coffee cup.

“Oh, a few years.” 

“How do you find it?”

“He is… a good employer. I mean, it’s like anything else. Sure, he can be quite demanding, but that’s not unusual. I’ve known worse.”

Amelia smiled. “You know, Mercurio told me almost the same thing.”

“Yeah. He’s reasonable enough pays well, and all that. Mercurio and I don’t see much of him anyway, except briefly.” Leticia looked up from her own coffee cup. “Actually, he’s spoken to you quite a few times and you’ve been here a while, so must have your own idea of him.”

“Well, I find him affable enough. He’s been gracious to me when we’ve spoken. I suppose he is rather exacting, but I don’t think unreasonable,” Amelia paused the take a sip of water. “The only thing is…”

“Yeah?” Leticia cocked her head, watching her.

“There’s something about him. Can’t put my finger on it, but it intrigues me. Do you,” she looked at Leticia speculatively, “know what I mean? But it’s probably nothing,” she shook her head.

Leticia looked as if she was thinking about something. 

Amelia glanced at her watch, “oh, I have to go soon. I need to be there for 9:30.”

“Oh, yes,” Leticia woke up from her thoughts, “don’t worry about this. I’ll sort it,” she told Amelia who was about to help clean up. “Our driver will pick you up to take you. I’ll let him know.”

 

* * *

 

Amelia had just finished at the lecture and practical seminar she had been attending most of the day. It was late afternoon, and she went into the collections at Columbia University library as she had some hours to kill, and might as well see what related to her recent experiences with Sebastian LaCroix.

There were many works of fiction in the literature section on vampires, many of which were the usual suspects, but some rarer and less well-known too. Related to those, were several critical academic work, print copies of journal articles, microfilms. But, what she was looking for was work on real experiences and phenomena, such as folklore and demonology. There were Montague Summers’ extensive but rather eccentric 1920s tomes on vampires (and werewolves and witches). These Amelia had read before - the book she had taken out at Pratt Institute Library had been one of his. Summers was well known in both academic history and literary studies as his research was detailed. But, his genuine belief in vampires made him something of a curious and charming oddity, despite his scholarly learning. He was responsible for the first English translation of the infamous _Malleus Maleficarum_ , and in his preface seemed to believe in witches and the method of dealing with them. In his opinion, “in all the darkest pages in the malign supernatural, there is no more terrible tradition than that of a vampire - a pariah even among demons.”

There were some 17th and 18th-century treatise extracts, detailing with strange grave phenomena, such as corpses in good condition with blood about the mouths. Demonology work suggested that demons could possess the bodies of the dead and do their work through them. The most detailed was a 1751 treatise by the French theologian Dom Augustine Calmet, which had much research and judicial reports. However, others suggested doubts about their existence. Pope Benedict XIV opined that all the phenomena attributed to vampires were ‘natural or the fruit of imagination, terror and fear’. Likewise, Empress Maria Theresa of Austria passed laws prohibiting the opening of graves and desecration of bodies to end the mid-1700s vampire panic, following investigations which concluded that vampires did not exist. After this it seemed the vampire became an artistic and literary motif, seldom believed reality to be feared. A result of Enlightenment rationalism. Disenchantment - a decline of religion and belief in the supernatural. 

Most of the folklore vampire stories related to beliefs in remote villages, with peasants and probable misunderstandings of contagion and the process of decomposition, as suggested in Paul Barber’s _Vampires, Burial and Death: Folklore and Reality_. There was nothing resembling anything like Sebastian LaCroix. Only fictional portrayals of vampires as fascinating but malevolent noblemen came close, and Amelia did feel that she had stumbled into a gothic novel.. but that was silly. Not to mention there were so many variations in signs of vampires, and many of them were utterly absurd. Methods of repelling them varied too, some quite amusing, but others very disturbing. Staking was an ancient burial practice intended to pin down corpses to prevent them from rising, and observed in many archeological digs; not just associated with vampire lore. That wouldn't work alone - decapitation and burning were the surest ways... But this was all very ghoulish.

So, she was inclined to give up on this research. She closed the book with a sigh and put it on a pile with the rest.

As she was clearing up, she glanced up for a moment. For a split second, a dark figure, probably a man, was watching her from around the corner of a large bookshelf. When she looked again, there was nothing there. Perhaps a trick of the light. But it was a little disconcerting. She looked at the time - 5:30pm. And still daylight.

Since her mind was on edge with a suspicion that her employer Sebastian LaCroix might be a vampire, it was not too much of a stretch for her to worry about him discovering her little research excursion. But, if her suspicion was true, he may not even be awake yet, and perhaps couldn’t be out in the day.

Still, she felt uneasy and would go soon. She was feeling slightly ill, faint. But then she’d be back at his house again, so maybe would stay out for as long as possible. Yet Sebastian LaCroix hadn’t done anything bad to her, had he? She seemed perfectly safe, comfortable and well provided for. Perhaps there was nothing to fear. It might all be in her head, like Henry James’ novella _The Turn of the Screw_ , in which the ‘strange and sinister were embroidered amongst the normal and easy’; there was uncertainty where reality ended and delusion began; whether its gothic heroine was going mad, or possessed of keen perception to the supernatural. 

Packing up, she pushed a book back into place on a shelf. 

“That is rather morbid reading for a young lady,” a voice behind her, looking over her desk. A man, perhaps in his forties, he had a grave face and seemed as if he’d suffered hardship; seen disturbing things. In the dim light, it was hard to see, but it looked like his face was scarred. He wore what looked like a leather trench-coat, rather martial. He too was looking at this section of books. “What makes you read those?”

“Oh, no reason really,” she clutched her notebook closer to her chest. “It is an interesting subject.”

“Certainly,” he said gravely. He was not American. There was a hint of a German accent to the way he spoke English. “But it is not typical you know.”

“Well, I’ve always had a feeling for strange things,” she said cautiously.

“As do I,” he said mysteriously, “But, take care. Curiosity opens doors for darkness to work upon the unaware.”

“Um… ok,” she looked confused and weirded out. “I was just reading. That’s all.”

“Are you sure?” The man eyed her as if looking for a sign; a symptom of something.

This made her uneasy. Most people took reading these subjects as just eccentricity, but he took it seriously. To lighten the mood she giggled, “oh, you don’t believe in all this, do you? It’s just folklore, myths, unscientific beliefs.”

“So they say,” His tone became irritated. “But there is wisdom in this old knowledge, unfashionable as it is in this Godless age.” His accent seemed to come out stronger than. “You should take my words more seriously, young lady. There are things more real than you know. These fiends,” he was indignant, but lowered his voice, “Something vexes you. Tell me -” 

“No-no, I’m fine,” she backed away. _Is this guy something to do with LaCroix? Or, some kind of Van Helsing wannabe? Whoever he is, I can’t talk about what I suspect to anyone. What if all this is a misunderstanding and LaCroix is not a vampire at all? That's still possible, and so I can’t indulge crazies like this._

“Are you sure? If you are scared of speaking openly it is inappropriate here, yes. But you are not the only person to perceive strange unexplainable things,” he said in a hushed but insistent tone, and he looked around furtively to see that no one observed. “If it is not too late… If you need help-”

“I’m ok.” Amelia picked up her bag off the desk. Ready to leave. This man was very strange. Possibly a fanatic. But it freaked her out that someone believed vampires were to be taken seriously. And deep down knew that he spoke the truth. “But, um, thanks.”

“May God protect you then.” He wrote something on a scrap of paper and placed something within it. “Take this, should you change your mind.”

She took the paper and pushed it into her bag. Then continued walking head down at a swift pace. Glancing behind her, she could see the man standing where she had left him but soon he was gone.

The chauffeured car was waiting for her nearby. Before getting in, Amelia looked round subtly but pensively as she worried if he was following her. But there was no sign of him. She got into the car and put on the seatbelt. 

“How was your day?” the driver asked her. When he dropped her off this morning, she had been excited and talked to him about it on the way. Now, her mind was on other things.

“Oh, yeah, it was good. Interesting. But I’m kind of tired now, actually.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“Yes, it has,” Amelia looked out of the darkened windows, at the rain hitting the sidewalk. What if that weird man was spying on her? She didn’t trust enough to divulge her fears, even to someone that might believe it while most would laugh. She opened the folded paper he had given her, expecting a phone number or address, but it wasn't either. Just the name of bookstore, which she had heard of, but never visited. It was an occult bookstore; quite obscure and difficult to find. Maybe it was a front for something. Perhaps, this was a breadcrumb trail. She'd have to figure it out. 

Soon, she’d be back again in the house of Sebastian LaCroix. The night was soon approaching. She felt she had not learned much that could provide a conclusive answer, nor help her in escaping the situation if it was truly as she feared. Yet, still, she was not definitively sure about LaCroix, because she clung to the idea that there had to be evidence and hard facts. Even though her intuition gave her a deep feeling of certainty that he was not exactly human and not quite alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used some real examples for the vampire research section in the library. References:  
> \- Barber, Paul; Vampires, Burial and Death: Folkore and Reality, (Yale University 1988)  
> \- Summers, Montague; The Vampire: His Kith and Kin [1928], (Apocryphile Press, 2011)  
> \- Calmet, Augustin; Treatise on the Apparitions of Spirits and on Vampires or Revenants: of Hungary, Moravia, et al. [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vampire#Dissertations_on_vampirology]
> 
> Things are about to take a dramatic turn very soon. :) Stay tuned...


	6. A Revelation

When Amelia was dropped off by the chauffeur and let through the security gate, she went straight up to her apartment in the elevator. By this time it has grown dark, but she saw nothing of Sebastian LaCroix. 

Had she gotten any closer to knowing about vampires? Or, of making sense of LaCroix? No. Not really. No more than what she had researched when it was only a hypothetical, academic interest before all this. But, despite the lack of hard evidence she was quite sure now, even if it was mostly intuition. 

She dropped her handbag on the table and rolled the work bag over the carpet floor. Sighed, dropping on the sofa. What to do? She pulled out the note the strange man had given her. Something slid out onto the coffee table as she unfolded the paper. A rosary. Not a surprise considering the impression the man had given her. Holding it up, letting it hang from her fingers, the light shone on the beads; glinted on the crucifix figure. Would that work, or was it the faith behind it that carried power rather than the object itself? But Amelia could not say that she had faith in it, though she was not a stranger to considering it. In doubt perhaps. She had attended an Anglican church primary school when young. Her father had, at times, shown subtle hints of a turn to supernatural belief after the loss of her mother… She gathered the rosary into her palm and could feel the tears form. It had been just over half a decade since then, but the thought was still raw, and she didn’t want to linger on it now.

As for the note, there was just the name of an obscure bookshop. No address. No number. No name even. How secretive. And when would she have time to go there? Possibly while she had some time off, but most of it would be occupied. No time then. What if it would help though?  It was easy on the mind to dismiss that man as crazy - probably a religious fanatic. Yet he was sincere. Full of fervour and conviction. Perhaps he had some grievances - there had to be something personal to make someone take that conviction so strongly to heart. What if he had tracked her here, and could save her?

But, it might still all be nonsense. She might just have an overactive imagination and didn’t need saving. Sebastian LaCroix was innocent, perhaps. Yet she had thought about this problem for a long time now, and had deliberated on it for what seemed like forever. But seriously entertaining vampires as a real possibility was not the default conclusion, was it? No. Even if someone noticed something “off” about another, “he must be a vampire!!” was unlikely to be thought, except as a joke. So, she could not be thought silly or slow for not accepting this idea as fact.

Another sigh. She re-folded the paper again. The rosary she left out on the table. She could think about all this later, and switched on the TV and found an old episode of  _ Buffy the Vampire Slayer _ . An amusing coincidence considering present circumstances. But, she had watched every season since it first aired, so why not now?

 

* * *

 

For a few hours, Amelia slept. It was late - after midnight. 

A low sound of a door shutting. The mild reverberation through the walls. The sound of a limousine pulling away. Maybe, it was just ambience or imagination. Even, just dreaming. And she was familiar with strange dreams. 

Reaching a pale hand to switch on the bedside table lamp, a warm light illuminated a small radius beneath the lampshade. The rest remained in darkness. Sitting up, she looked at the clock. It was still no time to wake yet, but she might as well stay up, and then go back to sleep. Slipping out of bed from the warmth into coolness, she’d need her dressing gown. 

It was probably nothing. Old houses made weird noises. She went to the window and pushed open the curtains slightly. From here, it was tricky to see down, and she had to stand close against the window. She thought she’d dreamt that LaCroix had gone out. A premonition, maybe? She couldn’t see much though, the porch and front garden seemed deserted, and there was nothing on the street beyond the tall gates. Up the road, a dark shape of a limousine driving sleekly up the road, illuminated in the night by the glow of street lamps. It looked similar to one that LaCroix owned.

A sigh of relief. He never invaded her privacy here, but given her fears, the thought that he was not here was a reassuring one. It also meant that what Leticia had said in answer to her question of why he wasn’t seen in the day - that LaCroix wasn’t there because he was out - may have been lies. Amelia couldn’t be sure if vampires could be out in the day - there was some confusion over this like much of the mythos about these supernatural creatures. If it was true, perhaps he had woken up, and gone out from the house now, not earlier. But again, this was just speculation. And it had been the night for a while.

She had tried exploring the house earlier this week in the daytime while she was working. Almost all the doors were locked, or so they had led her to believe - she hadn’t checked the veracity of this. Also, Leticia or others were around, even though she seemed to be alone much of the time. It was a silly idea to try exploring the house for answers at night - the worst time if LaCroix was as she suspected. It would be a few hours until dawn. But she needed to know. And if he was out...

There might not be a better chance than now. 

Usually, she did not go into the main house, except on two occasions she had spoken with LaCroix, invited or otherwise. And at other times when she was invited to dinner, although he was always absent. But she decided to go out this time. It was a few hours before morning, but this might be the quietest time she got.

Amelia went to the wardrobe and pulled out a small suitcase she had on the shelf. Inside, was a little black bag, which she had become more conscious of hiding the longer she was here. Her father was quite keen on security, since that was the sector in which he had worked, and had taught her bits of survival and self-defence stuff. The bag was essentially a survival kit, with the usual items, first aid, flashlight, wire saw, etc. Not items needed in a city. There was a swiss army knife and a lockpick, which might be useful. Deliberating over the tactical pen which could operate as a letter opener - or a self-defence knife - she took it anyway just in case, although it wasn’t much. 

The townhouse had three apartments within it. The principal of which LaCroix lived at. It was the largest, covering most of the floors and the grandest. Then, there was a small apartment on the garden level floor and hers in the attic - which was surprising as, although most of her windows were skylights, the window in her living area had good views. Although the original layouts of such old residential buildings often had servants’ quarters in the attic, for modern tastes this floor would have been part of the principal apartment, not hers. But so it was. They didn’t seem to be rented either, which was surprising. Being in Manhattan, they could get hundreds of dollars per night just for short-term rentals. And LaCroix was no doubt shrewd with money. He would not miss the chance to take advantage of the opportunity unless there was a good reason. Probably security and secrecy.

To get into the main residence, she had to go down to the lower ground floor. She wouldn’t be able to explore everything. Some rooms were too secure. But she could try at least.

At the stairs, her hand glided over the rail in a featherlight touch. Descending around and around with each turn of the flights of stairs. When she got down to the lower ground floor, she met some locked doors, but for one at the end of the corridor. There, she found the kitchen again. She had half expected it to be an untouched artefact of the early 1900s, but just as soon as this idea had drifted into her mind, she was not sure why she had thought it. Mercurio had shown this room to her when she had first arrived and she had been in it only this morning, so she knew what it was like. The longer she had been here, the more she wished that Mercurio had stuck around rather than go to Los Angeles. 

The kitchen was quiet. She opened the fridge and, as usual, found it not well stocked. It was dark outside, and she could see her reflection in the windows framing the inky blackness beyond. She tapped her fingernails on the worktop. Where to next?

The other rooms were just for storage, except for the entrance to the other apartment on this floor, which she didn’t see a reason to check. There was the basement though. It was always off limits as were all the rooms in the day, but she wondered if she might have more luck at night. LaCroix himself had a set of keys for everything in the house, but there was no way she could get them from him. 

The door of the basement was secure. It was locked. Amelia bit her lip, deciding then to try with the lockpick. Her dad had shown her how to use it; she wasn’t particularly good but had managed basic locks - practice ones. After tinkering with it for a few minutes, she managed to get it open.  Going down the dark set of stairs - she didn’t want to turn on the lights, instead just used her flashlight. As on the floor above, there were several doors, most of them led to mundane places - service rooms, laundry etc. Nothing exciting or unusual. 

A security door - not dissimilar to a bank safe door. She was curious to find out what lay beyond it, but she didn’t have a key and it was too secure to lockpick open. Attempting the lock, it was too difficult.  _ Hmm _ , she folded the lockpick up. The thought lingered that she might find a definitive answer, much like Jonathan Harker did in  _ Dracula _ , finding there a crypt like room. Maybe a coffin, empty because it was night! At the least, she had felt like she was in a modern, real version of that novel.  But she didn’t want to go there, scared of what she might find. And didn’t want confirmation of the queasy feeling that he was not alive but dead, or rather living dead. She doubted that he slept down here, anyway. And she couldn’t see him sleeping in a coffin. But, she didn’t know. And only had human fiction and lore to go on.

The wine cellar appeared normal, but there was in fact little of it here. There was a strongroom - possibly a refrigeration room, which she could see was set to 4 degrees Celsius. Again this may not be unusual, but she wondered what was inside. It was the temperature to keep blood… But it too was locked. 

Taking a deep breath, she retraced her steps. The basement door was closed but unlocked as she had left it, to her relief. She did not want to get stuck down here. She peeked through a crack in the door, and slowly opened it, looking around to find it still deserted and went out.  She could have gone to the front door and let herself out there. But it was freezing outside, and she had nothing with her. And even if she opened that door, the security gate lay beyond it, and that she didn’t have access to open.

Back up the stairs, the door into the first floor was shut, but surprisingly unlocked. Back out into the entrance hall and staircase atrium - where she had waited when she first arrived here. Her first glimpse of the opulence here, and perhaps the sinister feel beneath. And everything here was much as it had been on that first night and had been whenever she had seen it while being here. The dining room was empty, filled only with the luxury of its interior and furnishings. The other rooms were much the same.

The big entrance doors were locked, quite impenetrable to anyone trying to get in, or anyone trying to get out.  
  


 

* * *

 

 

She crept up the stairs, fingertips resting lightly on the rail. Listening for signs of activity, but heard nothing. In the skylight above the staircase, the night was black and murky with clouds. 

This floor was familiar, since she mostly worked here. The library door was open too. She slipped in cautiously, and went to the next. Her journal notebook was there, where she had left it. On the desk were still some of the items she was working on. The late eighteenth and early 19th century French volumes. LaCroix had told her they were inherited and since he was French descent and likely of an affluent linage, that was not unbelievable. But, if her suspicion was true, maybe that was not quite accurate. But... could he be that old? Was that possible? Was not the idea of the Undead being so long lived the stuff of fiction, and the oldest echelons of mythology? It was true that his manner sometimes appeared reminiscent of another century, but it was hard to comprehend such a vast swathe of time. So much history; so much change. It was too dizzinging to think of now. She had sat too long going over some of the items here again.

Back into the lobby hallway, and as usual the house appeared silent. Satisfied that there was no one else there, she tried the other doors. Mostly locked again, or had nothing of interest within them. 

Which floor next? She went up the stairs, never having been up to these floors, since she had no reason to; her apartment wasn’t accessible this way. It did not surprise her that most rooms were locked given that they probably housed valuable items, and she was effectively a stranger; alone a lot of the time. However, she thought there was much more to this than normal security concern. 

Amelia wandered down one of the corridors, this one lit by some wall-lights, but dimly. She turned off her flashlight. Mirrors on the walls. She went down slowly; cautiously, clinging to the wall. Since the higher floors were more private she felt more awkward in creeping around up here. And more on edge. Her movements slowed. Yet, she wanted some answers. 

Going down the corridor, her heart-rate had increased; her hand shook when reaching for the door-knob of a room she presumed to be a bedroom.

Locked. 

_ Hmmm. that wasn’t a surprise.  _ And she did start to feel a little guilty.  _ What am I doing? LaCroix is trusting me, and gave me this opportunity in spite of me not having a lot of experience. This is how I react? But, I know there’s something not right here… _

But with this, she felt a little bolder, and went down to some of the others. She felt one of the door handles turn and give; yield where others had not. Her breathing heavy.

But it was just a closet. Nothing of interest there.

She continued further, noticing that one doorway was open slightly ajar. Her pace slowed to almost nothing. But on reaching it she could see in slightly. 

The room was dark, without much light, perhaps only one solitary lamp was on, but not very bright. This darkness made it hard to see - just shadows and dark shapes in the gloom. 

Something passing then, lit by the dim chink of light from the corridor. Recognisable form. A fleeting glimpse of Sebastian LaCroix from the back.

_ Shit _ . She withdrew quickly, backed up against the wall. Hand covering her mouth.  _ I thought he was out. _

Her eyes drifted forward, meeting the mirror, in which the reflection collected the interior within. This view was obscured; hard to distinguish through the shadows.

He seemed to be seated, leant over something outside her vision.  _ What was he doing? _

She wondered if…  _ no. _

A glint of something in the light. A  glimpse of fangs?

What she thought she might be seeing - like the other thing that had been the start of all this? He seemed absorbed in this, and she wasn’t sure if he would notice her, perhaps less cautious due to the privacy.

But LaCroix’s grey eyes, weirdly incandescent in the dark, glanced up, furtively watchful of his surroundings, and met the mirror and it seemed her. She wasn’t sure if he could actually see her. What if he could? What if he didn’t need to see her - just sensed her there?

_ Oh fuck. _ She dithered, panicked, but couldn’t possibly make it back to her room without being seen. Breathing faster, heavier, she tried to calm down and to keep quiet. Slowly trying to move away. A sweat of fear rushing over her. A cold, clammy shock flushing horribly through her nerves and veins. Heart-skipping a beat.

Creeping across the hallway as quick as she dared, and found a sideroom open, went in and shut the door. It turned out to be a wet-bar to serve the rooms up here. A room room to prepare and store drinks - possibly not your average drinks though.

She backed into the room, her hand gliding over the quartz worktop. Something in the way. There was a wine glass, on the side. And she almost knocked it over. She lunged to catch it before it hit the worktop and shattered. She had saved it. Luckily, it was not full.

But contents splashed on the side. Red, a thin residue which one might assume was wine in this dim lighting as she couldn’t see well. It didn’t smell like wine though... Peering down at the glass, it didn’t flow quite like water or wine. Something very different in the texture - thicker. 

It looked like…  _ Oh no. _

Her hand was shaky as an anxious feeling crept over her skin. It looked like blood in the glass. Subconsciously, she touched her neck, right where she’d dreamed LaCroix had -

Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes looked from the glass to her translucent reflection in the cabinet glass.  Seeing him possibly feed as a vampire, and this glass of blood now. All the little things about him that had struck her as odd. The subtle mood change when she cut herself and bled. Her dream of him doing something involving a Kiss on her neck. The uneasy vibe she sensed in his presence the very first time she met him. The horror of the other creature, no doubt in her mind now a foul, living dead thing too. All rushed through her mind in sudden epiphany. It was hard to catch her breath from the dizziness. Feeling faint, she gripped the worktop for support. Perhaps Sebastian LaCroix was just one of those hardcore “vampyre lifestyle” people. She hoped. This thought was just to make her feel better. The alternative was… disturbing. 

Almost frozen in motion, she was still holding the wine glass. Sebastian LaCroix was either a very disturbed and dangerous human, or he was a vampire. A creature of the night! Had he been secretly sucking her blood?  _ Oh, Jesus… _ This job was too good to be true - it was just a ruse to let him have her around! Either way, she had to go. Right now. And jump on a plane for the first flight back home. Even though she was still in her nightdress. 

  
She couldn’t hear anything, but it was the dead of night. A couple of hours before dawn.  _ He _ was here. Had he sensed her presence? The glass of blood could not have been here long, as it wouldn’t keep well. Which meant that...

She heard a familiar pleasing to the ear, but now sinister, voice.

“What are you doing here at this time of night, Miss Siddall?”

Amelia put the wine-glass down, harder than intended. It smacked on the worktop, glass on quartz. And looked around nervously. Her voice was shaky, “I-I was, um, looking for something.”

“Really... ” He looked around the room. Of course, she had no reason to be there. “I thought you would wait until morning.”

Heart skipping a beat; not fully understand what he meant by this she gave him a puzzled look, but she had a sinking feeling. “Well I… just woke up. So I thought I’d go for a walk.”

“Hmm.” 

She knew he was sceptical. She looked around; considering her options. Edging away. “I might say the same. How come you’re up now? Um, have you been out?” She wondered what he had been doing -  _ hunting someone to bite; drinking their blood - killing them? _

“Yes. But I expect you are not surprised by that,” he said with a knowing look; his eyes drifting over to the wine glass and hers followed to it, then quickly looked away.

“Erm, I guess not,” she feigned ignorance.

“No doubt, you have noticed that I seem only to be present at night.”

“Um, yes. It seems that way.’’ She shrugged,  _ Perhaps I said too much to Leticia…  _  “But I don’t see you all the time, so I can’t say.” she played dumb, but he knew that she knew. Her eyes drifted to the door. “Well, anyway I should probably go now.”

“Stay here,” he countered, taking a step closer to her. “What do you see amiss here?” he said, obviously referring to the glass of blood.

“Nothing.”

“Are you quite sure about that, Miss Siddall? I find that hard to believe.”

Silence. She caught a breath. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, but you do,” he said approaching her.

“No. I was just… just leaving.” She attempted to run past him, bolting out of the doorway, but wasn’t sure where she was going. Perhaps, if she could at least reach the elevator or even a room she could lock herself into, she could be safe. And maybe try to stay locked in until the sun came. It was only a couple of hours! Then this vampire would have to retire to where he rested in the day. But what then? He wasn’t alone. There were those who helped him, and the daytime wasn’t a problem for them. 

All through her was a bolt of adrenaline, feeling like it was life or death. And she could feel that she was pursued; feel LaCroix hardly a pace behind her.

Reaching a door, she clung to it and tried the handle desperately, but couldn’t get it to open fast enough which made her panic more.  

In fact she had only managed a few metres away from where she had started. LaCroix was faster than her and easily caught her. She felt his cold hand grasp her arm; turning her around and she tried to wrestle herself out though it was of little effect. Scratching him which drew the slightest trace of blood. Whirling around, she cut him with letter-opener. 

There was a wrathful look in his eyes. Red lines of her fingernails on his white skin where she’d scratched him. An uneasy silence. Her eyes widened with how easily the wound healed. And not a trace of bleeding, like his veins were void of blood. What on earth!? She gasped; shaking with realisation that he could not be maimed, or at least it would be difficult to do so.

LaCroix eyed the girl carefully. His hands gripped her arms tight, as she had backed up against the door. It was little effort to him, and it seemed like nothing but when she struggled found this deceptively light grip to be vice-like. And there was nowhere to go in the smallness of this hallway. Only herself and LaCroix, who blocked her path. The opposite way only the door against her back, and that was locked. In the gloomy light of moonlight through the window, his face was ashen white. The cold light and the shadow made the angles of his face sinister.

“I knew you would come looking for answers to your suspicions tonight. But you’ve been foolish. You must think yourself quite clever with your little investigations,” he scoffed. “What you have seen was by design. I left that glass for you to find.”

“ _ What _ ?” What he was saying washed over her.  _ But what about? _

“Even so, I don’t take well to spies,” he snarled with bared fangs in words like ice; the angered scowl of his brow and fierce grey eyes that pierced down into her soul. The attractiveness of him turned to livid, living dead horror. The masquerade of humanity and life had slipped. He was not unlike the monster she had seen, only now it was obvious. Yet that sense of composure remained. His voice was not raised, but this coolness was much more dreadful than common anger could have been. 

“I didn’t -” She turned her face from him, her body posture was closed and felt shaky with a cold fear all over. 

“ _ Look _ at me!” His voice was whispered icy venom. His hands gripped her arms, with fingers digging into skin. The sharpness of his nails were still there, not yet simmered down. His eyes blazed. There was a frayed tone to his voice, as if he was frantic; agitated, though he pushed down this feeling quickly. He did not wish to let her see it.

Her eyes met his again then as he desired. Wide green eyes wet with fear. The girl was breathing heavily - he saw the heavy rise and fall of her chest - the sound of nervous gasps. The pace of her heart thumped fast. He could listen to, almost feel in fact, the pulse of blood through her arteries and veins. 

Perhaps she saw that flicker of interest in his eyes as they glanced for a moment at her neck, seeing the greenish hue of veins in her milk white skin. “Please don’t,” she spoke in a small, strangled tone. 

“You’re not really in a position to deny me,” he told her, almost softly, which chilled her to the bone. He pushed back that interest, and didn’t do anything to her, in fact he actually loosened his grip. 

She watched him warily as he calmed down. That sudden flash of ashen white flesh, sharp fangs, clawing fingernails and white-hot grey gaze, simmering down again to his usual handsome and collected, refined manner. It was hard to reconcile these aspects. 

There was still an edge to him; a frustration. The scratch she had given him had gone completely. He perceived that she was looking for it, “you can’t harm me.”

She just nodded.

“Let’s try again then,” he was almost polite again and this was disconcerting due to the contrast with the earlier fury.  “What was in the glass?”

“Blood...” she began absentmindedly, wanting to forget.

“And, do you know why that would be, Miss Siddall?” he said very softly, but like a blade clothed in silk. She didn’t answer at first. “ _ Why _ ?”

“Because you drink it!” she cried. “You’re a vampire.”

“Yes. Have you suspected this for a long time?”

“No,” she answered quickly.  _ Has he seriously just admitted to being a vampire? _ “I-I always thought there was something strange. I was only curious. There was something about you. I just…”

‘’Curiosity is what gets people killed.’’ His dominating gaze bore into her interrogatively. “Why did you go against my instructions?”

“I didn’t -”

“Don’t lie.  _ Who _ sent you?” A hint of worry.

“What? No one!” she didn’t know what he was talking about.

His eyes narrowed. She had been seen talking briefly with one of the associates of  Grünfeld Bach, although it seemed he had engaged her due to the material she was looking at. LaCroix was unsure what she had said, and worried if she had said anything that might alert Bach, which was most undesirable. He had not thought she was involved in anything like that, but perhaps that could have been an oversight. The Imbued, as they called themselves, were like her - perceptive to the supernatural - but he wanted to get her before others did. He had meant this revelation to be controlled, and not such a shock to her, but this was how it had turned out. More softly, “look at me, show me your eyes, and tell me. I want to see that you are not lying.”

“I was only…” she bit her lip. Her hands wrangled together in anxiety. “I guess I’m too curious for my own good… there were just things about you that intrigued me, and then made me suspicious. I always felt that way since I first met you. And then, when I was at the library, I thought I’d find something to read - there’s sure to be something obscure there. But I didn’t really… apart from that weird guy who started talking to me, and I was scared of saying anything.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought he might have something to do with you. Maybe spying on me, or something.” she looked into his eyes, innocently. “He wasn’t?”

“No.” LaCroix didn’t probe deeper, not wanting to alert her to the significance of Bach and his associates. She was afraid and likely to think nothing of seeking their “help”, so he wanted to question her in a less direct way.

“I never meant any harm to you. I just -”

“When people know too much, there is much harm,” he stated. “But, I’m inclined to believe you. There’s too much sincerity in your manner. You would make a poor liar,” he smirked. 

He moved away from her, and she was glad of the breathing space. He paced around her though, as if deciding what he would do with her, like a cat playing with a mouse. “I’ve known too many that have tried to hunt me, and so know that you are nothing but a naive girl. Since you arrived here - since we first met in fact - I’ve been aware of your suspicions prior to this night. I had hoped that they would remain just that - unproven, wild  _ suspicions _ . But, I knew that you would insist on pressing forward. And now you know all this, I am afraid I really cannot allow you to wander about freely anymore. Innocuous though your motives may be, such knowledge is always a threat and must be dealt with accordingly.”

“If you’re going to kill me, please do it quickly,” she looked him in the eye. “If there’s any mercy in you, do that at least.”

“That may not be necessary,” he replied dismissively; an imperious wave of the hand. “But I admire your courage,” his eyes remained penetrative as they peered into hers, trying to find some revelation of her as a person. “You have already proven more… resistant than most. And, more inquisitive, I might add.” 

His eyes slid away for a moment as if in thought. He looked down at her as he tilted his face upward in haughty posture and an exasperated sigh, it seemed almost exaggerated for effect. “I suppose I could spare your life, since you may prove useful to me.”

Amelia did not know if she liked the sound of that idea. Serving a vampire, was not a very hopeful prospect. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t form a sentence since she remained on edge. “What do you mean by ‘useful’?”

He could see her anxiety.  _ What did she imagine he intended to do with her? _ It made him smile to think of her quaint assumption. “I will explain, but not here. You will come with me.”

He moved away from her then, giving her the space to feel safer. He could see that being too overbearing would be counter intuitive to cultivating her good feeling towards him. He expected her to follow him, but she remained against the door; her posture still stiff and closed, like a rabbit in the sight of a predator. She regarded his offering with fear. He stared at her expectantly but bemused. His head tilted slightly in thought again, as he considered that more compassion might work better. His voice softened and the cold facade slipped for a moment into something more humane. “I won’t hurt you,” he said with the faintest hint of real sincerity. 

“That’s not really a promise I should accept from a vampire,” she replied softly, her large eyes gazed at him unsurely. But her posture had begun to ease and she faced him more openly now.

“No. I can see why you think that,” he parried without hesitation or pause. “But, be that as it may, you will have to take my word you won’t come to harm. Come with me.”

Amelia didn’t say anything, unsure what to say and stood still for a moment, but started to approach him. 

He his hand closed around her arm - really only resting there, but it was a firm guidance as he steered her across the floor. She still felt faint and in some way it was helpful. In fact, she had a little  Déjà Vu to when she had first encountered him as he had helped her. Only then, the fright she’d had was not from him, whereas now it was.

She had been too shaken to notice before, but being in close proximity to him, the weight and embrace of his arm around her waist, drawing her against his body, she could feel that he was cold. Not glacial, but noticeably cooler than her, and she flinched at first. His hand had all the warmth as that of a dead man’s. And he was still. No draws of breath; the rise and fall. Nothing. His animation and yet lifelessness was disturbing. “Where are we going?” she asked him nervously.

“One of the drawing rooms,” his voice was soft, as affable as she had found him to be before this revelation.

 


	7. An Explanation and Commitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments, kudos and the nice comments for my previous chapter regarding my characterisation of LaCroix. I appreciate that a lot. :)
> 
> Sorry this chapter took longer than intended to post as I had some other commitments. Anyway, here it is. Quite a long dialogue chapter, the content of which originally was part of chapter 6 before I posted it. However, I separated them to make it less lengthy. Enjoy ! :D

LaCroix steered Amelia back down the hallway and into another room. She followed his direction stiffly; distrustful for obvious reasons. She felt underdressed as well; wearing her nightdress and dressing gown. Neither were indecent or inappropriately suggestive, and showed barely a hint of skin. But even so, this was not exactly how she intended to appear, and really it had been stupid to explore just wearing this. 

This was a room she had never been inside before, another drawing room but smaller than the other she had been in. As it would be morning in an hour, the windows had blackout blinds and shutters which blotted out all daylight once they were down. He led her to the sofa which she sat on gingerly; still shaky, numb with shock and still wary.

“Drink this,” he offered her a glass of something, which she looked at suspiciously and pushed it away at first. “It’s just Cognac, Miss Siddall. I insist you’ve had quite a shock. It will soothe your nerves.”

She stared at him. Debating within herself whether to voice her incredulity at this offering, because she was still nervous of him. Knowing now that he was a vampire, she couldn’t be sure of the risk of antagonising him. “You can’t be serious? A shock? If I’m shocked then it’s because of you. Now you’re pretending as if everything is normal. And then -”

“Don’t test me. I don’t have time to give you a detailed explanation. So, a summary shall suffice,” he chastised her wearily, putting the glass in her hand. “This could have been much gentler, had you behaved yourself. You do not realise, but I’m treating you with more generosity than I ought.”

“Had I behaved myself?” she raised her eyebrows. Letting a hint of defiance through her wariness. “All this strangeness about me here - how could I not want to find out the truth? You cannot blame me for curiosity,” she said warily; holding on to the glass in both hands to keep them from fidgeting. 

“Perhaps not, but as I told you, curiosity is a dangerous thing. Most people in your position would have ignored whatever they noticed. And most would have noticed nothing, anyway.” LaCroix sat on the chair next to her, “but not you. You are more perceptive than most.”

“So,” she fiddled with the glass, “if you knew that, why this subterfuge? Why not be honest? Why draw it out?” Amelia wondered about the first time she met him - what she had seen - but thought it may not be the time to ask about that yet.

“Do you really think telling you such a thing would be useful? And could you have honestly believed it?” he seemed to pause for effect. “Your observational ability was noted. And, considering what you saw when we first encountered each other, I thought it necessary to monitor you. If someone, anyone, comes into the knowledge of our presence in your midst, it threatens the very fabric of our existence. So, I could not bring you into such knowledge at the outset, without first assessing you. Which, apart from this transgression, you had met the requirements successfully.”

Amelia stared at him wide-eyed, “assessing me?” _What’s this - the craziest job interview ever?_ She felt her stomach turn with anxiousness. Her hands were shaky.“Did you want to see how long it would take me to notice? Like a test? Well, I guess I’ve passed. Frightening me to death like this must be all very amusing for you, I’m sure. I hope it was a good laugh.”

“No. Such a frivolous aim would not be my concern.” LaCroix looked at her, then with a downward glance of the eyes, as if in thought. “In hindsight, it could have been more subtly done. Part of the intention of engaging you with this assignment was to observe how much you could deduce. However, you were not meant to find out as you have tonight. Your recent actions made it necessary to engineer it. Tell me, you spoke to someone while at the Columbia University Library today. What did he say?” 

Her brows furrowed. Confused and slightly defensive. “He spoke to me. I didn’t start talking to him. I told you he was… strange.”

“But what of these?” LaCroix asked, taking something out and laid them on the table. The rosary and piece of paper. A bolt of shock rushed through her. 

“How did you?” _When had he had time to get those from her room?_ And she noted how he could touch the rosary with no negative effect on him. “I-I didn’t say anything to him. I didn’t tell him anything.”

“I already know that you didn’t.” She had adhered to the NDA she had been required to sign at the start of the employment contract. “But, that does not mean there is no harm done. Talking to such an individual, no matter if you do not admit to anything, could be a risk. Your suspicions had become too much potential liability. And so, though not my original intention, you had to find out like this tonight.”

“So,” Amelia decided to take a sip of the Cognac. It was good. Smooth and rich; a warmth that built. _Mmm, that’s really good. I dread to think how much that cost. But why would a vampire even want that?_ she thought then refocused herself. “When _were_ you planning on telling me then?”

“When it was the correct time.” 

 _Well, that’s not really an answer._ She looked out of the window at the rain hitting the glass. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“That I have not yet decided,” he went to the window, looking out on the dismal, rainy night. “As you can imagine, it is undesirable that you know what you do. Then there is this curious and defiant streak in you,” he circled around her. “Here you are, sneaking about in the dead of night. Breaking in no less. And with these effects,” he noted the lock-pick, Swiss army knife and letter opener pen he had confiscated. “Insignificant as they are - how can you be trusted...” 

“I wasn’t planning to do anything,” she protested. “I was just… curious, I suppose. And - you said that you knew I would” she sighed, deflating back on the sofa.

“What did you think you would do after discovering the truth?”

“To be honest I… I don’t think I really knew.”

“Hmm, perhaps you are quite foolish then. But, what need have I for someone so naive?”

Knowing that he would not just let her go, and he might, therefore, prefer her dead… unless she could give him a reason to keep her alive. “You… need me to finish the assignment that you employed me for?” she suggested unsurely. 

“It is not significant, and can be done without,” he dismissed her.

“But… you said that I was doing a good job with it. Surely I could help with something else then?”

“Indeed. But, there are others I can already call upon, and still, others that I could procure for it. So, what reason have I to keep you in particular, especially now?”

“Well, then you might as well just kill me then if that’s what you mean is the last resort.”

“Such a drastic measure is unnecessary,” he said flatly without pause. But it seemed he had expected her to initiate negotiations - like recommending herself for a job or making a business deal - and was miffed that she hadn’t given him the pleasure of a discussion he would relish. “No… You will stay with me. You can assist me in some capacity, I suppose. You have some useful knowledge and skills. And, you’ve done well with what I engaged you for in the first place… Apart from your inquisitive transgressions,” he replied. “But understand, what I’m offering is not charity. You must know that you answer to me now. This is not simply an employment relationship that you can forget when not in working hours, nor resign from. You are mine. I want you to be my attendant and you will serve me.”

She stared at him open-mouthed. “So - what? I’m your slave now? Is that what you’re saying?” The words tumbled out as a sinking feeling of dismay seized her.

“If that’s the way you want to describe it,” he didn’t contradict her, so at least he was honest about it. “But I can make it worth your while.” 

“I don’t care about how much money you have,” Amelia responded immediately. Feeling anxious, yet finding some strength. “You can’t be allowed to do this - I mean, technically this can’t be legal? You can’t do this. I-I won’t let you.”

“I think you’ll find I can,” he said quite coldly. 

“How am I supposed to live?” Amelia protested, patting the sofa annoyance. “I’m supposed to be going home, my visa-”

“It will be taken care of.”

“But,” she jumped off the sofa and paced to him framed in the window. “But, I can’t just stay. There are things I need to sort out. And, oh, I can’t just disappear. People will wonder why... You need not have me! Surely, someone else would be more convenient for you?"

“As I said, it can all be arranged,” he showed no reaction.

“But, why go to the trouble? There must be hundreds - thousands - out there that you could choose,” she gestured out of the window. “And much more easily. Why must it be me?”

“There are others of more experience and skills who could be more easily procured. But they do not know what you do. It is best not to bring more than the minimum necessary into this knowledge. There are only a few options to solve this problem. Keeping you to work for me is the best in my estimation.”

“But… can’t you just let me go? I won’t tell anyone. I doubt anyone would believe me.”

He almost laughed, “there are some who would, even if most thought you mad. And you know of specific details, perhaps enough to convince that it is not mad ravings. No, you cannot leave. And, even if you did, how will it look if I were to detail your predilection for sneaking around as you have been?”

So he would make life difficult for her then? “But that’s… not my fault. Anyone could understand if they knew.”

“Perhaps, but no one can know. You will tell no one,” his grey eyes held determination in them. “Do you understand me?”

Perhaps she could go along with it. “But I was only supposed to stay a couple of months longer. Not, whatever length of time you’re expecting from me now,” she opened her hands. “And what am I supposed to tell anyone who expects me back?”

LaCroix thought about that for a moment. On the one hand, it might have seemed preferable that no one knew. But on the other, people would look for her if she seemed to have gone missing. Better if it was legitimate and normal, innocuous to suspicion. “Tell them that you’ve had a job offer - one that is very lucrative for you. Surely, after studying and your academic accomplishments, they will be pleased for you.”

“But I -”. She didn’t have any close family waiting really. Not now. So, she couldn’t convince him that anyone would come looking for her. Of course, her extended family and friends might wonder, but she wasn’t close to them, so the explanation that she had a job would be accepted and not thought strange. Her father, however, would have certainly questioned this and would want her back home. “I can’t.”

He turned around considering her with something like concern, "The situation will not be as dire as you think. I have expectations of course. _Don’t_ disappoint them. But, know that I am not unreasonable compared to others. You’ll feel glad when you know more. I’ll take care of you, so long as you do what I ask. You’ll be quite comfortable. We can examine the details later, but you’ll not need to worry. You’ll be paid, and accommodation can be arranged, perhaps some expenses covered if required.”

“Well, there’s obviously a catch. What will I be expected to do?” She asked quietly but crossed her arms.

“Anything I’d like,” he said as if it was obvious. 

“Oh,” that sinking feeling still there. She knit her hands together, wringing in nervousness. Paid for accommodation. Good salary and an allowance. Belonging to him. Being his attendant and companion. And, he was extremely rich so none of this was difficult for him. She did not like the sound of this at all. It sounded like he was buying her. What _else_ did he want her to do?

He went on as if sensing her unease, “for now, I’ll have you just in my Haven - where I live. That is the term we use for it,” he explained as she furrowed her brow in confusion. "I know you can organise, manage and look after information and records, so you can assist in that capacity. Since your current assignment is incomplete, you will carry on with that as agreed. Then, you can assist with the move to Los Angeles.”

“Ok. So… like a PA?” She was warming to the idea. Though the idea of going to LA did not appeal to her greatly. If she had to stay with him, she'd rather stay here in New York.

“Something like that. But, just here for now I suppose. I have others to deal with the business side, and you don’t have enough experience for that.” He was slightly dismissive. “You will continue in a similar capacity to your work so far, which you have done well with, by the way. I am pleased with you.” 

She seemed a little more cheered by that as if complement from him eased the issues. And the thought of interesting antiquarian books and old collections of items he still possessed. This situation might be quite comfy, maybe she could live with it? “Ok,” she bit her lip. “But, would I have to -”

“Yes?”

“Erm,” she swallowed, “let you… er, drink my blood.”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh.” _Well, of course - how obvious_ , she thought sarcastically.

“It need not be pernicious,” he reassured her, but his expression had slight amusement. “In fact, you might find that you don’t mind.”

Certainly, in that dream, it was far from unpleasant, nor something undesired or traumatic. Quite the opposite. She felt herself going red. “What about... Anything else?” her voice trailed off.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you expect anything… intimate, I mean?”

“ _No_ ,” he said firmly and off-hand as if repulsed by something vulgar, which made her feel inadequate. But she knew how messed up that was - to be disappointed that he didn’t want to take advantage like that. If anything it was a blessing. “That is not something to indulge in with Kine.”

Since she knew that “Kine” was an archaic word for cattle, it stung to be referred to this way. She could see the sense it made for a vampire to whom people were just walking blood-bags that were sometimes useful, but no more. However he had been human once, and so the difference between them was not as concrete as he might like to frame it. Maybe he just didn’t care anymore and was barely resembling anything human once the mask slipped. But she wasn’t sure either way yet.

At least, in his way, he seemed to have a sense of propriety… even if it was due to his arrogance and superiority. A wave of relief washed over her at this. But the prospect of him wanting to drink her blood was more worrying - was that even safe? He might kill her, deliberately or accidentally.

LaCroix glanced at his watch. 6:30 am. It would be morning in half an hour. Amelia thought briefly that if only she could keep him talking longer, but it was obvious that he was too aware of the time for that to work. He went away from the window and sat on the sofa, and gestured her to join him. She followed, sitting next to him awkwardly. 

He pressed a remote control, and the blackout-blinds and shutters went down over the windows, and the long curtains closed too. Plunging the room into a permanent night, as if in a world of darkness.

“Now, one more thing.” LaCroix took off his suit jacket, which was slightly alarming to her. He removed a cufflink from his shirt cuff and loosened the sleeve, exposing the bare white flesh of his wrist. A sinking feeling. Somehow, she knew what was coming.

Regaining his sense of aloof composure, he straightened himself up, his grey eyes swept over her imperiously and met hers again with a look of speculative contemplation. It was like a languid dream that she watched him bring his wrist to his mouth and bite; blood beginning to stream down his ghostly pale wrist. 

“What are you doing?” Her voice was uncertain as she peered at this curious act. “You… aren’t going to turn me into a vampire, are you?”

“No,” he said in a bored tone. She felt his hand snake around her with fingers that left a cool trail and rested around her arm. There was no pain; his touch was light yet the hold felt like iron. “I hadn’t intended to do this quite yet, but given the circumstances…”

His bleeding wrist he offered for her to drink. She felt sick with worry. “You didn’t say… I-I don’t,” she whispered hoarsely as one fresh from a dream.

He lifted her chin with a touch of his fingers and his eyes fixed on hers. And could hear her pulse had quickened with nerves. He anticipated her reluctance to drink his blood since she was afraid of forming an attachment to him. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She felt her sureness grow clouded in the full attention of his gaze. She felt slightly delirious. She could smell the richness of his blood so close and it made her nauseous to find she desired to taste it.  

“This can be made easy,” his eyes turned to ice with the edge of irritation in the low tones of his eloquent voice. _Offered his superior blood and reluctant to taste it? Insolent mortal creature._

Her lips felt dry. Her eyes fell from his eyes to his wrist, bleeding and the redness of the blood contrasted on his pale skin was something a bit disturbing yet fascinating. How was he bleeding? He had no circulation. Her head bowed over it; hands tentatively taking his arm for a bit of reassurance and then a tentative dip of her tongue. 

The blood tasted like nothing she could have ever tasted. Richness and cold power; yet it warmed her like the finest Cognac. Better than the one he had given her. No burn; just a pleasant, luxuriant warmth spreading down her throat and throughout her body.

He stroked her hair. His binding of her to him would not yet be permanent. It was not out of particular cruelness, but practicality and self-preservation. He would prefer not to necessitate this. Although some were reasonable, he found Ghouls to be troublesome because their attachment could devolve from loyalty to disturbing adoration, neediness and even base obsession to the degree that they became useless and intolerable. Perhaps, with her strong will, she would be different.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay a new chapter. Sorry for the delay :)
> 
> Thank you for all your recent comments on the last chapter and others, as well as kudos - it is all very welcome.
> 
> Here we have another a chapter from LaCroix's POV (third person), and rather long. Enjoy. :D

An hour since he arrived home after a lengthy board meeting, Sebastian LaCroix sat in his office contemplating a few subjects on his mind. Principal among these were machinations on his position. How might he turn his soon-to-be dominion of Los Angeles to his favour - a power he could maintain? And, avoid himself becoming just a useful - but disposable - instrument of the Camarilla’s ends, a suspicion he couldn’t shake the feeling of.

As for the young woman, it had been a few nights since the previous events. He had yet to interact with her again and, for the time being, that seemed reasonable. His schedule was filled with business dealings. Not to mention Camarilla politics and Ventrue meetings to consider, none of which she was yet privy to. For now, he did not think it appropriate to expose her to any of this. Still reeling from the shock of his reality, she was a liability and could be exploited. Others would know she was a new servant of his - they could smell it on her. 

It was better for her to be kept here for now. Which was not a great deal different from her previous behaviour - she hadn’t left the house much anyway. There was the matter of the training course she was attending, but if there was a chance of her encountering the hunter again, LaCroix would rather prevent it. 

She had been in her apartment since the discovery and her initiation through the blood. This was just as well - a few days to calm down and adjust would do her good. She could not escape - unless she had a head for heights, but it was a long way down to street level. And whatever weaponry she had - though inconsequential and minor - had been confiscated so she couldn’t fashion any nasty surprises. In spite of her timid persona, she had proved bolder than appearances seemed.

It had been a while since she had come out of her apartment, and hadn’t been letting in the other ghoul called Leticia Bianchi. It appeared that she had locked herself inside. But she would have to come out sooner or later. 

What was her reaction to the first time receiving his blood? Some were full of elation and invigorated by a feeling of potency when vampiric vitae commingled with theirs. With this usually came a deep feeling of devotion towards their regnant. Sometimes with worrying obsession. But, since she had not been coming to find him every night, he deduced that this hadn’t happened so forcefully. Which was just as well. He loathed when they followed one about like a lovesick puppy.

He supposed he could have refrained from doing it yet. Had he been too rash? No one else was aware. The only other Kindred who had interacted with her was the Ventrue fledgling Marianne Stewart, a Childe of an associate of his. She was serving as his PA during a period of mentorship from LaCroix, but had not worked with Miss Siddall for weeks, and had no idea that the mortal woman had learned his true nature now. Only he knew. So it could have been kept a secret for a short time, even though her knowledge of him technically broke the First Tradition… But it had been done. Had to be. He’d always had it in mind, so why did it matter when it took place? No, the circumstances did matter, and they were not as ideal as he had planned… But now, the situation had to be accepted, and he to take responsibility for it.

Since she had yet to leave her room, he had sent her a message early this evening.

_Miss Siddall,_

_It has come to my attention that you have been absent from work the past few days and that you have remained in your apartment for the entirety of this time. You must attend to your assignment so that completion can be achieved._ _Whilst I appreciate that the enormity of these new circumstances must be overwhelming, and am prepared to allow grace for the last few days, you must cooperate._

_I have some business to attend tonight but will be in my office from 11:00 pm until midnight. I hope you will make an appearance soon, of your own volition._

_\- S.L._

It was almost midnight. LaCroix tapped his pen on the tabletop. Tap, tap, tap. An infuriating way to count down the seconds. She had yet to appear and had not given him the courtesy of a reply. He got the impression that she was avoiding him. Possibly afraid, which was understandable. But if she was going to continue these insurrections, then he would have to scrap the whole idea. Then, there were only two options. One of which would spare her life and was perhaps the kindest thing he could do, but entailed psychological conditioning to make her forget everything. However the process of a blood bond had begun, and the situation was difficult.

LaCroix himself, of course, would not go up to the apartment he had allocated to fetch her. Instead, he preferred to summon. This compelling effect would reach out to her like a mysterious voice on the wind that must be followed. A somewhat advanced discipline, but made easier via connection in the blood. He wondered how long it would take her to arrive.

But before that was necessary, a soft knock on the door caught his attention. “Enter,” he responded, appearing indifferent as he worked on writing something.

The door opened just enough for a glimpse of her pale face framed in the doorway peering around it awkwardly.

“There you are,” LaCroix said dryly. She slowly opened the door enough to let herself slip through. “A little late, but at least you finally deigned to appear,” his sarcasm palpable and seemed to make her wince. He watched how she lingered in the space between his desk and the door, but closer to the latter. Usually, she was in smart business casual, though not exceedingly glamourous or of high-end sophistication. But having a proper view of her now, she was in a sweater dress of a thick material and a rather shapeless form. A deal more casual than he had previously seen her in. Somewhat divergent behaviour than expected - often ghouls would go out of their way to impress. She, however, appeared to be resisting. He stared at her expectantly for a moment when she remained there. “Sit, please.”

She looked down at the chair opposite him; sitting in it with a rigid posture as though ready to leap out of it. The long sleeves pulled down over her hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” she glanced at the time, “but it’s only just midnight. You told me that would be alright?”

He noted that she seemed nervous, so thought it better to show some sympathy. “Yes. I suppose I did not specify an exact time. I’ll let it go tonight, but remember this next time.”

“Now, I wonder, why were you absent from your work?” he asked.

“Isn’t that… obvious? After this, I’ve had so much to think about… how could I concentrate?”

“I understand. The last few days of absence will be allowed.”

“That’s… generous of you,” she said, not quite believing if he was genuine and sceptical of why he would do it. 

“It’s reasonable,” he said. “Now, given the situation, I’d like to know a few things about you. When we spoke last, you said there were people to inform, now that you are staying in my employ for longer than originally contracted. You have done this I take it?” 

“No…”

“Why not?” He gave her a hard look.

“Look,” she took a deep breath, putting her hands on his desk. “It’s not easy for me - you are asking me to be dishonest. How do you expect me to say that I’m ok? I’m clearly not. I’m under duress - you’re holding me against my will - you are also a vampire and it’s more than likely that you will kill me at some point anyway! And if not you, being with you shall put me in the path of others who might. How the hell do you expect me to do this?” She started shaking; tears starting to build behind her eyes.

LaCroix watched her. “Do not tell anyone,” he responded cautiously; unsettled by this sudden outburst.

“Yeah- yeah. I know,” she looked away from him. “Do you honestly think they would believe me anyway?”

“It is unlikely, but there is always a chance. One can never be too careful. Regardless, I am not asking you to be entirely dishonest. It is a job opportunity - well rewarded as I have told you.”

“But… but you want me to act as if ‘everything is fine’,” she adopted a mocking voice; artificial, painted smile, but the sadness and desperation of the situation overwhelming her suddenly, “but you know that it is not. You want me to tell my Aunt that her sister’s only daughter - me - is safe, well and secure - when I am not. You like to think of yourself as noble - going about in this haughty; lordly manner; as if you are respectable and honourable. Pretending to be so hospitable and trustworthy to me. But really you’re - you’re,” she tried to muster the words, “a vampire and you just want to use me. And... I’ve never met anyone as despicable in my life.”

LaCroix was very silent for too long. 

“Too much truth for you then,” she was passive-aggressive; folding her arms. 

“Do you take pleasure in antagonising me, Miss Siddall?” 

“No,” she seemed uneasy now. He was staring her down, and she realised she might have been more honest than she knew he could tolerate. 

More silence. “Then, why do you insist on being so uncooperative?”

“I… don’t. It’s just what you’re doing is bad. Someone needs to let you know it. Do you want everyone to be totally subordinate all the time?”

“Listen to me.” His grey eyes like ice-fire bore into hers. “I told you before how fortunate you are, but I see that you have paid no heed. Do not speak to me in this way, and then presume to lecture me on honour and dignity. Courtesy is earned. Just as respect is earned. And you are insolent. You are also my servant. And you presume too much. Now, just answer my questions.”

He paused to collect himself again, expecting that she would cooperate with him, yet just as he was about to continue his questions, he heard her questioning little voice again. 

“But what about -”

“Silence!”

“No,” she stamped her feet. 

He sighed in an exaggerated way; more expression of exasperation than physiological since he had no need to breathe, “I’m tired of this. You may leave,” he said not looking at her as he dismissed her.

‘’What?” It looked as if she was about to burst into tears. In spite of the situation and not really wanting to be here, at the same time she wanted to continue the interaction. This desire was perplexing. Perhaps the influence of his blood at work. A look of uncertainty on her face, “but I thought you wanted to ask me about?”

“Get out!” His frustration got the better of him

“Fine,” she cried in defiance. 

He watched her dash out of the room; it sounded like she was trying not to cry. She couldn’t move fast enough and almost stumbled as her foot caught on the chair leg, but didn’t fall. With unexpected strength for a woman her size, she flung open the door and slammed it shut, making a shudder through the walls.

 

* * *

 

An hour later. Time to think about what she had done. It had been quite heated earlier, and he needed time to collect himself. He had let himself become agitated by her and wasn’t dealing with her properly. On some level, he felt a slight tinge of guilt. He’d been thinking of what to do after this. Perhaps too harsh. _Her despair and outrage are… understandable._ But she needs to learn that certain things must be adhered to.

He still needed some answers from her, and it would not hurt to try for some reconciliation. Because of the circumstances in which she had found out what he was, he knew she was primed to resent him; to regard him with contempt and hatred. Blood Bonds could compel loyalty certainly, but ghouls could be creatures of great passion, and this may lean more to hatred than to love. That could be dangerous - many hunters had their origins there. So he had to make amends somewhat.

Furthermore, in spite of the fortifying and loyalty instilling effects upon a mortal, some did not take to it so with such easy bliss. Some reacted with ill-feeling - sometimes like a milder version of that experienced in the first nights after the Embrace. He suspected this may be the case with her.

He had to smooth things over. Perform a measured dose of sympathy. Show her that he was not a complete monster, though she no doubt regarded him as one. But if she thought he was evil, well, she was very naive of how much worse others could be. 

Knowing that she had returned to her apartment - he could sense her presence in that direction - he had followed her upstairs. Although he had a set of keys, he hadn’t been to the second apartment in the building for some time; actually not at all since she had been staying there. No doubt this would surprise her now, and she would not believe it since her mind was probably full of all sorts of ideas and assumptions, not all of them unreasonable to be fair. 

“Miss Siddall?” He asked at the door, knocking lightly on it. 

No answer. 

He could hear her heartbeat and could sense her presence inside, though wasn’t sure of her precise position yet. It was after 1:00 am, so it was conceivable that she might have gone to bed but he doubted it. 

A slight ruffling sound, then silence. Too much silence, like she was trying to stay perfectly still and quiet, though not quite successful given that she was alive. When he honed in on the sounds he could hear her breathe, however shallow she tried to make it. Heart-beating… slightly faster now - nervous? He was sure she was completely aware of him being here, but waiting for him to leave.

“Our meeting earlier… it was not as I intended and ended too abruptly. There is still much that must be covered, preferably now,” he said, but reassuringly. If he had to, he could unlock the door, however, it appeared she left her key in the other side to prevent this possibility. 

He remained quiet for a minute or so after that, to let her think he had gone because he was interested in what she would do if she believed that. Indeed, her presence seemed to have come closer to the door, probably to listen. “I know you are there,” he said.

A floorboard creaked - she must have moved suddenly. 

“Open the door,” he instructed. 

Something moved - it sounded like some piece of furniture pushed across the floor. The key turning in the door, and then it slowly opened only just ajar but no more. LaCroix immediately pushed it open fully, and strode into the room as soon as he had the opportunity. Miss Siddall was near one of the large armchairs from the lounge, but she had moved it from there.

“You don’t mean to tell me that you made a barricade with that surely?” he eyed her and the chair, which she looked down at and up at him sheepishly. He remembered that Ms Bianchi had said that Miss Siddall had not let her in, so she must have started doing this regularly. 

“Well, you can’t blame me for doing it, can you?”

“I can see why you would think so. However, it is not necessary.” He couldn’t say that her doing this hurt him as such. It didn’t bother him if she had a healthy respect for him - if that meant she was scared of him at least a little bit, so be it. But to be honest he didn’t take complete pleasure in causing such terror. He’d much rather their interactions be reasonable, controlled, calm and any other positive synonym. Scaring her to death was counterproductive. “You will desist in this silly behaviour.”

She looked a bit unsettled, “but it gives me peace of mind. I suppose I’ll have to just sleep in the day time now…”

“Why? You think I will visit you here?”

She shrugged and put her hands on her hips dramatically, “well, I don’t know? Why wouldn’t you?”

“If it will appease you, I won’t visit here again after this conversation, unless it is a necessity. But in that case, I will notify you.”

She looked at him in disbelief, “I-I don’t believe you.”

“You have my word.”

“But - you had those things from here? On the night when…”

“Ms Bianchi came in while you were out exploring and gave them to me. I haven’t visited this apartment since you arrived.”

“Um, okay,” her voice sounded uncertain. Continuing to stand at one side of the chair, using it as a blockade. “For what it’s worth, I still don’t see why you wouldn’t. But if you say so.”

“Good. Now, let me in,” he said referring to the chair which was still blocking the hallway.

“Ok,” she sighed and folded her arms; looking quite cross. “But what do you want? Are you going to shout at me again?”

“As I remember, it was you who started shouting at me. I hoped to find you calm, now that you’ve had some time to think things over.” He looked at her expectantly, until she pushed the chair back to its position in the lounge.

The room was dark, and he got the impression she’d switched off all the lights to hide. The bifold door through to the bedroom was open slightly ajar, giving a glimpse of the bed. The covers ruffled and thrown back suggesting that she must have have been in it. She still had that pullover dress on, but it looked like she’d just pulled it on over her nightdress. Considering her eccentric choice of clothes to explore his house a few nights ago, he presumed she had a penchant for loungewear. He was surprised she was at ease with this, given her general shyness suggested she was not a woman especially comfortable in displaying herself in revealing clothes.  

“See it as you see it, you mean.”

“Ah, I see you are still argumentative.” He turned 180 degrees to her as soon as she spoke. “Well… I’ve had time to consider your actions earlier and, although you were disrespectful to me, I have taken into consideration the circumstances and will give you another chance. Do you have anything to say?”

“No,” she replied tersely with resignation. “I’m sorry.”

“Very good,” LaCroix sat down on the best seat, although she did not join him straight away; lingering about at the other side of the chair, near the small kitchen area. 

She got a glass of water before approaching. “I’d offer you a drink, but I imagine there’s nothing you’d be interested,” she joked as if humour was a way to cope; to diffuse her anxiousness. And she did appear more confident in that moment, though it faded a little into uncertainty, “well… I suppose there’s something you might… but I-”

“Don’t worry about that now,” LaCroix interjected, sensing she might start rambling. “Let’s concentrate on the matter at hand. Sit down.” He wasn’t thirsty at this moment, as he’d already fed. Not that he didn’t think of it, but it was of secondary importance to what he needed to know, so the thought was only brief. “Now, I summoned you to my office for some information I need about you. This is important so that everything can run as smoothly and painlessly as possible. Firstly, why have you not informed anyone of your extended employment, as I instructed? You said you hadn’t yet, and expressed several concerns in explanation for this, which I appreciate. However, the sooner it is done the better. Are there any impediments to this?”

“No, I suppose not,” she shrugged and sat down on the chair opposite. “It’s just… like I said - you’re asking me to be dishonest. To make it sound like a good thing - but I don’t see how it could be called that. First - you are keeping me under duress. Second - you want me to be subservient to you. It doesn’t take a genius to guess why I might not be okay with that.”

“You feel frightened and distrustful of me. Yes, I understand,” he nodded. Still some resistance from her, meaning that the Blood Bond hadn’t made her totally dote on him, which in certain ways a good thing, however, he did want some obedience at least. “And I’ll allow a short period of time for you to acclimatise, all things considered. But you must - must adhere to what I tell you. Then it will all be perfectly reasonable.”

She looked at him as if she was trying to figure him out. “You’re just buttering me up now aren’t you,” she sighed, crossing her arms.

“Think what you will,” he scowled a little. “You’ll be well compensated as I’ve already explained.”

“Material gain doesn’t make up for everything you know,” she sighed. 

“No?” He found it hard to believe that she wouldn’t be a least somewhat tempted. Most would. 

“No. Not if I’m going to be mistreated and tormented all the time. Constantly threatened by you if I even say anything,” She said forthrightly.

“I’m not keen on mistreating you for its own sake. I do not believe it to help manage my retainers. But, _you_ weren’t reasonable earlier either, and you should be punished. However, your uncertainty of the situation got the better of you, so I’ll overlook it this time.”

“I suppose so,” she sighed, deciding it was for the best to go along with it, believing that he couldn’t bear a difference of opinion.

“Anyway, what are your circumstances?” 

She looked surprised at how quickly he had moved to another subject. “What do you mean?” She was just buying time; probably wondering how wise it was to open herself up, thinking him unlikely to be a friend to her.

“Family circumstances. Your parents?”

A pause. Amelia looked as if she was deciding what to tell him, “you don’t need to worry. I’ve no ties or commitments.”

“Why? Explain.”

She sighed, picking at the woolly skirt of her knit dress. “We lost my mum several years ago,” she looked plaintive.

A sad atmosphere. “Oh… I’m sorry for your loss,” he struck a sympathetic tone. Whether he meant it or not was another matter. Since she was suspicious of him, it was doubtful she believed him. 

“Thanks.”

“And, your father?”

“I haven’t seen much of him due to work,” she said vaguely, which piqued his suspicion and curiosity.

“What type of work?”

She shrugged, “security. I don’t know much about it though. Sometimes he was away a lot.”

“‘Was’?” LaCroix pressed her.

“Well, I haven’t seen him in… over a year. Some type of work contract. I don’t know. To be honest, I-I was - and am still concerned because of not hearing anything,” she admitted, but putting a guarded, diplomatic sheen on it; not wanting to be too familiar with him.

“Hmmm,” LaCroix wrote down some notes, “I see.” This may be something that warranted more attention at some point, but he’d not press it for now. Tragic, but it was more convenient for him. He could see Amelia lean forward a little, peering at what he was doing. He ignored this and continued his questioning. “Had he always worked in that field? If not, had he a military background perhaps?”

“Um, no,” Amelia said but didn’t elaborate further. “Why do you ask that?”

“It’s not significant,” he dismissed, “but a reasonable assumption - security and intelligence work often go with military and defence sectors.”

“Yes, I see what you mean,” she appeared to think as if there was more that could be expanded upon, but deciding whether to do so or not. LaCroix paused, looking at her to prompt a further answer. “No, he had manual jobs before that - um, in mining and steel manufacture,” she smiled forthrightly, as if aware of the lower class connotation; taking it with pride, but wondering how this fact would be received by him. 

 _That makes sense_ , LaCroix thought. Miss Siddall was an intelligent, accomplished, well-spoken young woman, bearing little of the ill-bred traits of the lower classes. However, there were small things that indicated to him that she wasn’t from privilege. How she expressed and carried herself; what she appeared accustomed to, all was subtly clear to him after interacting with her for a while. That she was proletariat derived explained this for him. But she did put on a good show.

“I see,” he showed no reaction, sure that she would be sensitive to perceived inferiority. “Have you any siblings?”

“No. Just me.”

“Close friends?”

“Not really. I mean, I’ve got some friends yes. But, I suppose they’re just acquaintances. With the distance, those at home and that I met at university in London will probably move on to other things; live their own lives as people do. I made some friends here while I was an exchange student. In fact, some are still studying, so I was in touch with them a bit. Some might ask how I’m doing, I guess, since they’re in the same field, but probably won’t look any deeper once I say I have a job.” She smiled wryly, “so, I can’t think of anyone who would set up a search party to save me from you if that’s what you’re concerned with.”

“Perhaps but one can never be complacent,” he replied while writing a note. “But I can believe you. Friendships tend to be circumstantial, and therefore drift apart naturally. You can count very few that can be relied upon in life.”

Seeming comforted by this small flash of friendly advice she smiled, “and in Unlife too, I’m sure.”

“Even more true in fact,” he said with a tone of cynicism. But soon put that aside, not wanting to give her too much familiarity. “With that in mind - another thing to ask. Are you in a relationship?”

“No,” she said in a drawn-out way; looking at him in surprise that he’d ask this.

“Any prospects of one?” he probed.

“Not that I know of,” she lightly scowled; taken aback at him asking this. “Why are you writing this down?” she asked that he made a note of her answers.

“Because I want to,” he looked at her haughtily. “Now, as this position was temporary - have you made any other employment arrangements?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Well, I had made some applications... but I’ve not had any offers yet, so no.”

“Just as well.” He wondered, _what applications had she made? But that’s a question to ask some other time._ For now, such details were not the main thing on his mind. “You will need to withdraw from what application processes you have begun since it’s no longer necessary.”

“Ok,” she said dejectedly. 

“So… you effectively have no ties. But you said there was someone you needed to tell? You mentioned your Aunt - how close are you?”

“Well, she’s my mum’s half-sister. Same father. When I was younger I didn’t get to know her much to be honest. I suppose my grandma and her father were estranged you know because they were divorced. They were more affluent than us. After my mum… I got to know her a bit more. And er, after my dad seemed to drop off the face of the earth, she helped me with what to do with jobs - suggested to me to do my master's degree. She was a teacher and then a librarian at a university library you see.”

‘’So, she knows about you taking this employment contract here?” He asked and Amelia nodded. “Are you’re in regular contact?”

“Emails mostly. Sometimes telephone.”

“Have you told her anything about the details of your employment here, or about my person?" LaCroix felt the need to ask.

"No, just vaguely the material I'm working on, but not in detail. And also no - I haven't described you or my suspicions about you - I'm not that stupid you know," she teased.

"Good. Well, you can tell her that you were offered a permanent position at the Los Angeles offices, which are being expanded and redeveloped, and you have chosen to accept. That should be believable. I’ll give you until the end of the week.”

“Ok,” she seemed resigned to going along with what he said.

“Now, that is all I wanted to ask you. I’ll expect you attending to your work again tomorrow. I’d like your original assignment complete by the end of the month - which gives you two weeks,” he smiled smugly, knowing that this would be a tight deadline. “After that, there’s another task I want you to do before we leave here.” he looked as if he was about to leave. 

“Ok, but I have some questions too," she put her glass down on the coffee table.

“Yes,” he sighed heavily, “what would you like to know?”

"Will I be allowed to go to the training course again next weekend?" she asked shyly.

"We'll see," LaCroix replied, a slightly mean smile crossing his face. "If you work well the rest of the week, perhaps. But you'll be escorted directly there and back. No time to wander. I don't want you meeting someone like before again."

“Okay." She bit her lip, "also, um, when I found out about you the other night. Did you leave that glass of blood for me to find?”

“Yes,” _haven’t I explained this before?_ “I suspected you had become suspicious. Then there was the evidence of your research and the rosary and address found here. So I left a clue you would certainly find and couldn’t fail to realise the significance of.”

“What about the reason for employing me in the first place - it was because of what I saw, wasn’t it? Outside at the New York Public Library - that was another vampire drinking blood from a person, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Perhaps now was a good time to give her a simple overview of the state of things. “There are several factions within Kindred society - and not on good terms with one another. The one you saw belonged to the Sabbat - they are antithetical to the Camarilla - the sect to which I belong. To keep it very simple, they are particularly nefarious and given to glutinous savagery. So you should think yourself lucky that I came across you first otherwise… well,” he paused to dramatic effect, “it is best not to think about what they would have done to you.”

“Ok,” she looked at him wide-eyed. “You said ‘belonged’ - past tense?”

“Yes. As I’m sure it will hearten you to know, that individual was destroyed, along with the others. A ragtag bunch; no serious threat, but destructive in spite of their often short shelf-life.”

“Oh that’s good,” she seemed visibly happier to know this. “Also, um,” she fidgeted, “before I found the glass the other night, I saw you -”

“You saw me feeding,” he admitted. There was no point in hiding this; it was better to normalise the concept to her. “Normally, that is something I’d take precautions to ensure that you never witnessed, since discretion is most important. However, as you were already becoming aware, I allowed it.”

“So… they’re alright then? The person you were...” she grimaced, the idea of him drinking blood still clearly disturbing.

“Yes. It isn’t necessary to completely drain someone. I’ve fed from that individual before. You see, I’m Ventrue - one of several bloodlines.” Seeing her look at him in wonder at this he remembered that she didn't know anything yet. “You’ll be informed about that some other time, as no doubt you’ll encounter others sooner or later. Anway, Ventrue can only feed on select people - which varies for each individual. Therefore, it’s preferable to maintain a reliable selection of suitable vessels - and not to kill them since our taste is rarefied and supply is finite. So yes, that person is completely fine. Do you understand?”

She drank a sip of water, “yes, I can see your logic. Um, so what about the other thing you did? You gave me… your blood,” she said at length, as if not wholly accepting of the fact. “What does that mean? You said that it wouldn’t turn _me_ into a vampire, so what does this make me?”

“Turning another into a ‘vampire’ is more specific process, called the Embrace, although it too involves the consumption of Kindred Vitae - vampire blood,” he explained. “But you don’t need to know too much about that now. In your case, no you are not a vampire. You are technically still human, and still mortal - but ‘enhanced’, you might say. I am your Domitor; you are by vassal - a servant.” He left out the more unflattering name “ghoul” for now since it would be unwelcome to her, and was not a polite term anyway.

“Hmm, ok,” she looked dejected. She seemed independent-minded and therefore was not at all fond of the idea of being servile. Which made sense since she had a working-class background, but had ambitions beyond that. “But I feel… kind of weird though.”

“That’s normal. I suppose this is why you haven’t wanted to come out of here yet?” she nodded in reponse. “Yes. Well, you may feel a little - unusual at first, due to the supernatural effects.”

“Supernatural effects?” She looked at him, slightly in awe. “Oh, that explains it,” she said as if something had been puzzling her the last few days.

“What?”

“Oh, well it’s just I’ve felt… different. Physically. Stronger than I’m used to… and also my senses seem… better. I could hear Leticia’s footsteps from the other side of the corridor, which I thought was really weird.”

“Yes,” He warned, “however, these effects are only temporary, and will fade without a regular supply of my blood.” 

Miss Siddall didn’t say anything for a while. And LaCroix believed that she was ill at ease with the idea of drinking his blood - never mind the possibility of him drinking hers. On the whole, however, LaCroix found this sober reaction of hers a positive - it was better if she didn’t become overly enthusiastic straight away. Of course, it did give him a hold over her, but he wanted her to be able to work, not waste time constantly pestering him.

“Well, that is all for now -” he rose to leave.

“But I had other questions-” Amelia protested. In spite of still being wary of him, a part of her appeared to want him to stay a little bit longer.

“They’ll be another opportunity. Good evening.” He could feel her eyes on him, watching him leave.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. :) Comments are welcome if you want to leave them.


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